THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

A    ROMANCE    OF   TWO    KINGDOMS 


THE  BATTLE  OF 
THE  STRONG 

A  ROMANCE  OF  TWO  KINGDOMS 


BY 


GILBERT  PARKER 


"THE  RACE  is  NOT  TO  THE  SWIFT,  NOR 

THE  BATTLE  TO  THE  STRONG" 


BOSTON  AND   NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 

Cijc  ItrtjersiDc  press,  CambnDtjr 


COPYRIGHT,    1897,    1898,    BY   HOUGHTON,    MIFFLIN   AND  CO. 

COPYRIGHT,    1898,    BY   GILBERT    PARKER 

ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


TO    MY  WIFE 


2047641 


NOTE 

A  list  of  Jersey  words  and  phrases  used  herein,  with  their 
English  or  French  equivalents,  will  be  found  at  the  end  of  the 
book.  It  has  been  thought  better  to  print  only  the  words 
which  are  pure  French  in  italics.  The  Norman  and  patois 
words  are  printed  as  though  they  were  English,  some  of  them 
being  quite  Anglicised  in  Jersey.  For  the  sake  of  brevity  I 
have  spoken  of  the  Lieutenant-Bailly  throughout  as  Bailly  ; 
and,  in  truth,  he  performed  all  the  duties  of  Bailly  in  those 
days  when  this  chief  of  the  jurats  of  the  Island  usually  lived 
in  England.  An  old  and  rare  map  of  Jersey  has  been  repro- 
duced, as  also  Mr.  Ouless's  engraving  of  Copley's  famous 
picture,  "  The  Battle  of  Jersey,"  now  in  the  National  Gallery. 


THE 

BATTLE    OF  THE   STRONG 


PROEM 

'~T"*HERE  is  no  man  living  to-day  who  could  tell  you 
-L  how  the  morning  broke  and  the  sun  rose  on  the 
first  day  of  January,  1 800 ;  who  walked  in  the  Mall, 
who  sauntered  in  the  Park  with  the  Prince  :  none  lives 
who  heard  and  remembers  the  gossip  of  the  moment, 
or  can  give  you  the  exact  flavor  of  the  speech  and 
accent  of  the  time.  Down  the  long  aisle  of  years 
echoes  the  air  but  not  the  tone ;  the  trick  of  form 
comes  to  us,  but  never  the  inflection.  The  lilt  of  the 
sensations,  the  idiosyncrasy  of  voice,  emotion,  and 
mind  of  the  first  hour  of  our  century  must  now  pass 
from  the  printed  page  to  us,  imperfectly  realized ;  we 
may  not  know  them  through  actual  retrospection. 
The  more  distant  the  scene,  the  more  uncertain  the 
reflection ;  and  so  it  must  needs  be  with  this  tale, 
which  will  take  you  back  to  even  twenty  years  before 
the  century  began. 

Then,  as  now,  England  was  a  great  power  outside 
these  small  islands.  She  had  her  foot  firmly  planted 
in  Australia,  in  Asia,  and  in  America  —  though,  in 
bitterness,  the  American  colonies  had  broken  free,  and 
only  Canada  was  left  to  her  in  that  northern  hemi- 
sphere. She  has  had,  in  her  day,  to  strike  hard  blows 


2         THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

even  for  Scotland,  Ireland,  and  Wales.  But  among 
her  possessions  is  one  which,  from  the  hour  its  charter 
was  granted  it  by  King  John,  has  been  loyal,  unwaver- 
ing, and  unpurchasable.  Until  the  beginning  of  the 
century  the  language  of  this  province  was  not  our 
language,  nor  is  English  its  official  language  to-day ; 
and  with  a  pretty  pride  oblivious  of  contrasts,  and  a 
simplicity  unconscious  of  mirth,  its  people  say :  "  We 
are  the  conquering  race ;  we  conquered  England,  Eng- 
land did  not  conquer  us." 

A  little  island  lying  in  the  wash  of  St.  Michael's 
Basin  off  the  coast  of  France,  Norman  in  its  founda- 
tions and  in  its  racial  growth,  it  has  been  as  the 
keeper  of  the  gate  to  England ;  though  so  near  to 
France  is  it,  that  from  its  shores  on  a  fine  day  may  be 
seen  the  spires  of  Coutances,  whence  its  spiritual  wel- 
fare was  ruled  long  after  England  lost  Normandy.  A 
province  of  British  people,  speaking  still  the  Norman- 
French  that  the  Conqueror  spoke  ;  such  is  the  island 
of  Jersey,  which,  with  Guernsey,  Alderney,  Sark, 
Herm,  and  Jethou,  form  what  we  call  the  Channel 
Isles,  and  the  French  call  the  lies  de  la  Manche. 


BOOK  I 

CHAPTER    I 

IN  all  the  world  there  is  no  coast  like  the  coast  of 
Jersey  ;  so  treacherous,  so  snarling  ;  serrated  with 
rocks  seen  and  unseen,  tortured  by  currents  maliciously 
whimsical,  encircled  by  tides  that  sweep  up  from  the 
Antarctic  world  with  the  devouring  force  of  a  mon- 
strous serpent  proj  ecting  itself  towards  its  prey.  The 
captain  of  these  tides,  traveling  up  through  the  Atlan- 
tic at  a  thousand  miles  an  hour,  enters  the  English 
Channel,  and  drives  on  to  the  Thames.  Presently 
retreating,  it  meets  another  pursuing  Antarctic  wave, 
which,  thus  opposed  in  its  straightforward  course, 
recoils  into  St.  Michael's  Bay,  then  plunges,  as  it  were, 
upon  a  terrible  foe.  They  twine  and  strive  in  mystic 
conflict,  and,  in  rage  of  equal  power,  neither  vanquished 
nor  conquering,  circle,  mad  and  desperate,  round  the 
Channel  Isles.  Impeded,  impounded  as  they  riot 
through  the  flumes  of  sea,  they  turn  furiously,  and 
smite  the  cliffs  and  rocks  and  walls  of  their  prison- 
house.  With  the  frenzied  winds  helping  them,  the 
island  coasts  and  Norman  shores  are  battered  by  their 
hopeless  onset :  and  in  that  channel  between  Alderney 
and  Cap  de  la  Hague  man  or  ship  must  well  beware, 
for  the  Race  of  Alderney  is  one  of  the  death-shoots 
of  the  tides.  Before  they  find  their  way  to  the  main 
again,  these  harridans  of  nature  bring  forth  a  brood 


4    THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

of  currents  which  ceaselessly  fret  the  boundaries  of 
the  isles. 

Always,  always  the  white  foam  beats  the  rocks,  and 
always  must  man  go  warily  along  these  coasts.  The 
swimmer  plunges  into  a  quiet  pool,  the  snowy  froth 
that  masks  the  reefs  seeming  only  the  pretty  fringe 
of  sentient  life  to  a  sleeping  sea ;  but  presently  an 
invisible  hand  reaches  up  and  grasps  him,  an  unseen 
power  drags  him  exultingly  out  to  the  main  — and  he 
returns  no  more.  Many  a  Jersey  boatman,  many  a 
fisherman  who  has  lived  his  whole  life  in  sight  of  the 
Paternosters  on  the  north,  the  Ecrehos  on  the  east, 
the  Dog's  Nest  on  the  south,  or  the  Corbiere  on  the 
west,  has  in  some  helpless  moment  been  caught  by 
the  unsleeping  currents  that  harry  his  peaceful  borders, 
or  the  rocks  that  have  eluded  the  hunters  of  the  sea, 
and  has  yielded  up  his  life  within  sight  of  his  own 
doorway  —  an  involuntary  sacrifice  to  the  navigator's 
knowledge  and  to  the  calm  perfection  of  an  admiralty 
chart. 

Yet  within  the  circle  of  danger  bounding  this  green 
isle  the  love  of  home  and  country  is  stubbornly,  almost 
pathetically,  strong.  Isolation,  pride  of  lineage,  inde- 
pendence of  government,  antiquity  of  law  and  custom, 
and  jealousy  of  imperial  influence  or  action  have  com- 
bined to  make  a  race  self-reliant  even  to  perverseness, 
proud  and  maybe  vain,  sincere  almost  to  commonplace- 
ness,  unimaginative  and  reserved,  with  the  melancholy 
born  of  monotony  —  for  the  life  of  the  little  country 
has  coiled  in  upon  itself,  and  the  people  have  drooped 
to  see  but  just  their  own  selves  reflected  in  all  the 
dwellers  of  the  land,  whichever  way  they  turn.  A  hun- 
dred years  ago,  however,  there  was  a  greater  and  more 
general  lightness  of  heart  and  vivacity  of  spirit  than 


THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG         5 

now.  Then  the  song  of  the  harvester  and  the  fisher- 
man, the  boat-builder  and  the  stocking-knitter,  was 
heard  on  a  summer  afternoon,  or  from  the  veille  of  a 
winter  night  when  the  dim  crasset  hung  from  the  roof 
and  the  seaweed  burned  in  the  chimney.  Then  the 
gathering  of  the  vraic  was  a  fete,  and  the  lads  and 
lasses  footed  it  on  the  green  or  on  the  hard  sand,  to 
the  chance  flageolets  of  sportive  seamen  home  from 
the  war.  This  simple  gayety  was  heartiest  at  Christ- 
mastide,  when  the  yearly  reunion  of  families  took 
place ;  and  because  nearly  everybody  in  Jersey  was 
"  couzain  "  to  his  neighbor  these  gatherings  were  as 
patriarchal  as  they  were  festive. 

The  new  year  of  seventeen  hundred  and  eighty-one 
had  been  ushered  in  by  the  last  impulse  of  such  fes- 
tivities. The  English  cruisers  lately  in  port  had  van- 
ished up  the  Channel ;  and  at  Elizabeth  Castle,  Mont 
Orgueil,  the  Blue  Barracks  and  the  Hospital,  three 
British  regiments  had  taken  up  the  dull  round  of  duty 
again  ;  so  that  by  the  fourth  day  a  general  lethargy, 
akin  to  content,  had  settled  on  the  whole  island. 

On  the  morning  of  the  fifth  day  a  little  snow  was 
lying  upon  the  ground,  but  the  sun  rose  strong  and 
unclouded,  the  whiteness  vanished,  and  there  remained 
only  a  pleasant  dampness  which  made  sod  and  sand 
firm  yet  springy  to  the  foot.  As  the  day  wore  on, 
the  air  became  more  amiable  still,  and  a  delicate  haze 
settled  over  the  water  and  over  the  land,  making  softer 
to  the  eye  house  and  hill  and  rock  and  sea. 

There  was  little  life  in  the  town  of  St.  Heliers,  there 
were  few  people  upon  the  beach  ;  though  now  and 
then  some  one  who  had  been  praying  beside  a  grave 
in  the  parish  churchyard  came  to  the  railings  and 


6    THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

looked  out  upon  the  calm  sea  almost  washing  its  foun- 
dations, and  over  the  dark  range  of  rocks  which,  when 
the  tide  was  out,  showed  like  a  vast  gridiron  blackened 
by  fires.  Near  by,  some  loitering  sailors  watched  the 
yawl-rigged  fishing  craft  from  Holland,  and  the  codfish- 
smelling  cul-de-poule  schooners  of  the  great  fishing 
company  which  exploited  the  far-off  fields  of  Gaspe  in 
Canada. 

St.  Heliers  lay  in  St.  Aubin's  Bay,  which,  shaped 
like  a  horseshoe,  had  Noirmont  Point  for  one  end  of 
the  segment  and  the  lofty  Town  Hill  for  another. 
At  the  foot  of  this  hill,  hugging  it  close,  straggled  the 
town.  From  the  bare  green  promontory  above  might 
be  seen  two-thirds  of  the  south  coast  of  the  Island  — 
to  the  right  St.  Aubin's  Bay,  to  the  left  Greve  d'Azette, 
with  its  fields  of  volcanic-looking  rocks,  and  St. 
Clement's  Bay  beyond.  Than  this  no  better  place 
for  a  watch-tower  could  be  found ;  a  perfect  spot  for 
the  reflective  idler  and  for  the  sailor-man  who,  on  land, 
must  still  be  within  smell  and  sound  of  the  sea,  and 
loves  that  place  best  which  gives  him  widest  prospect. 

This  day  a  solitary  figure  was  pacing  back  and  for- 
wards upon  the  cliff  edge,  stopping  now  to  turn  a  tele- 
scope upon  the  water  and  now  upon  the  town.  It 
was  a  lad  of  not  more  than  sixteen  years,  erect,  well- 
poised,  having  an  air  of  self-reliance,  even  of  command. 
Yet  it  was  a  boyish  figure  too,  and  the  face  was  very 
young,  save  for  the  eyes  ;  these  were  frank  but  still 
sophisticated. 

The  first  time  he  looked  towards  the  town  he  laughed 
outright,  freely,  spontaneously  ;  threw  his  head  back 
with  merriment,  and  then  glued  his  eye  to  the  glass 
again.  What  he  had  seen  was  a  girl  of  about  five 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG    7 

years  of  age  with  a  man,  in  la  Rue  d' Egypt e,  near 
the  old  prison,  even  then  called  the  Vier  Prison. 
Stooping,  the  man  had  kissed  the  child,  and  she,  indig- 
nant, snatching  the  cap  from  his  head,  had  thrown  it 
into  the  stream  running  through  the  street.  Small 
wonder  that  the  lad  on  the  hill  grinned,  for  the  man 
who  ran  to  rescue  his  hat  from  the  stream  was  none 
other  than  the  Bailly  of  the  island,  next  in  importance 
to  the  Lieutenant-Governor. 

The  lad  could  almost  see  the  face  of  the  child,  its 
humorous  anger,  its  willful  triumph,  and  also  the  en- 
raged look  of  the  Bailly  as  he  raked  the  stream  with 
his  long  stick,  tied  with  a  sort  of  tassel  of  office.  Pre- 
sently he  saw  the  child  turn  at  the  call  of  a  woman  in 
the  Place  du  Vier  Prison,  who  appeared  to  apologize 
to  the  Bailly,  busy  now  drying  his  recovered  hat  by 
whipping  it  through  the  air.  The  lad  on  the  hill  re- 
cognized the  woman  as  the  child's  mother. 

This  little  episode  over,  he  turned  once  more  to- 
wards the  sea,  watching  the  sun  of  late  afternoon  fall 
upon  the  towers  of  Elizabeth  Castle  and  the  great 
rock  out  of  which  St.  Helier  the  hermit  once  chiseled 
his  lofty  home.  He  breathed  deep  and  strong,  and 
the  carriage  of  his  body  was  light,  for  he  had  a  healthy 
enjoyment  of  all  physical  sensations  and  all  the  ob- 
vious drolleries  of  life.  A  broad  sort  of  humor  was 
written  upon  every  feature  ;  in  the  full,  quizzical  eye, 
in  the  width  of  cheek-bone,  in  the  broad  mouth,  and 
in  the  depth  of  the  laugh,  which,  however,  often 
ended  in  a  sort  of  chuckle  not  entirely  pleasant.  It 
suggested  a  selfish  enjoyment  of  the  odd  or  the  melo- 
dramatic side  of  other  people's  difficulties. 

At  last  the  youth  encased  his  telescope,  and  turned 
to  descend  the  hill  to  the  town.  As  he  did  so,  a  bell 


8    THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

began  to  ring.  From  where  he  was  he  could  look 
down  into  the  Vier  Marchi,  or  market-place,  where 
stood  the  Cohue  Royale,  and  house  of  legislature. 
In  the  belfry  of  this  court-house,  the  bell  was  ringing 
to  call  the  Jurats  together  for  a  meeting  of  the  States. 
A  monstrous  tin  pan  would  have  yielded  as  much 
assonance.  Walking  down  towards  the  Vier  Marchi 
the  lad  gleefully  recalled  the  humor  of  a  wag  who, 
some  days  before,  had  imitated  the  sound  of  the  bell 
with  the  words  :  — 

"  Chicane  —  chicane  !  Chicane  —  chicane  !  " 
The  native  had,  as  he  thought,  suffered  somewhat 
at  the  hands  of  the  twelve  Jurats  of  the  Royal  Court, 
whom  his  vote  had  helped  to  elect,  and  this  was  his 
revenge  —  so  successful  that,  for  generations,  when 
the  bell  called  the  States  or  the  Royal  Court  together, 
it  said  in  the  ears  of  the  Jersey  people  —  thus  insist- 
ent is  apt  metaphor  :  — 

"  Chicane  —  chicane  !  Chicane  —  chicane  !  " 
As  the  lad  came  down  to  the  town,  tradespeople 
whom  he  met  touched  their  hats  to  him,  and  sailors 
and  soldiers  saluted  respectfully.  In  this  regard  the 
Bailly  himself  could  not  have  fared  better.  It  was 
not  due  to  the  fact  that  the  youth  came  of  an  old  Jer- 
sey family,  nor  by  reason  that  he  was  genial  and 
handsome,  but  because  he  was  a  midshipman  of  the 
King's  navy  home  on  leave  ;  and  these  were  the  days 
when  England's  sailors  were  more  popular  than  her 
soldiers. 

He  came  out  of  the  Vier  Marchi  into  la  Grande 
Rue,  along  the  stream  called  the  Fauxbie  flowing 
through  it,  till  he  passed  under  the  archway  of  the 
Vier  Prison,  making  towards  the  place  where  the 
child  had  snatched  the  hat  from  the  head  of  the 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG        9 

Bailly.  Presently  the  door  of  a  cottage  opened,  and 
the  child  came  out,  followed  by  her  mother. 

The  young  gentleman  touched  his  cap  politely,  for 
though  the  woman  was  not  fashionably  dressed,  she 
was  distinguished  in  appearance,  with  an  air  of  re- 
moteness which  gave  her  a  kind  of  agreeable  mystery. 

"Madame  Landresse"  — said  the  young  gentleman 
with  deference. 

"  Monsieur  d'Avranche  "  —  responded  the  lady  qui- 
etly, pausing. 

"  Did  the  Bailly  make  a  stir  ?  I  saw  the  affair 
from  the  hill,  through  my  telescope,"  said  young 
d'Avranche,  smiling. 

"My  little  daughter  must  have  better  manners," 
responded  the  lady,  looking  down  at  her  child  reprov- 
ingly, yet  lovingly. 

"  Or  the  Bailly  must  —  eh,  Madame  ?  "  replied 
d'Avranche,  and,  stooping,  he  offered  his  hand  to  the 
child.  Glancing  up  inquiringly  at  her  mother,  she 
took  it.  He  held  her  in  a  clasp  of  good  nature.  The 
child  was  so  demure,  one  could  scarcely  think  her 
capable  of  tossing  the  Bailly's  hat  into  the  stream  ; 
yet  looking  closely,  there  might  be  seen  in  her  eyes  a 
slumberous  sort  of  fire,  a  touch  of  mystery.  They 
were  neither  blue  nor  gray,  but  a  mingling  of  both, 
growing  to  the  most  tender,  grayish  sort  of  violet. 
Down  through  generations  of  Huguenot  refugees  had 
passed  sorrow  and  fighting  and  piety  and  love  and 
occasional  joy,  until  in  the  eyes  of  this  child  they  all 
met,  delicately  vague,  and  with  the  wistfulness  of  the 
early  morning  of  life. 

"  What  is  your  name,  little  lady  ? "  asked  d'Avranche 
of  the  child. 

"Guida,  sir,"  she  answered  simply. 


io       THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG 

"  Mine  is  Philip.     Won't  you  call  me  Philip  ?  " 

She  flashed  a  look  at  her  mother,  regarded  him 
again,  and  then  answered,  — 

"Yes,  Philip  — sir." 

D'Avranche  wanted  to  laugh,  but  the  face  of  the 
child  was  sensitive  and  serious,  and  he  only  smiled. 

"  Say  Yes,  Philip,  won't  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  Philip,"  came  the  reply  obediently. 

After  a  moment  of  speech  with  Madame  Landresse, 
Philip  stooped  to  say  good-by  to  the  child. 

"Good-by,  Guida." 

A  queer,  mischievous  little  smile  flitted  over  her 
face  —  a  second,  and  it  was  gone. 

"  Good-by,  sir  —  Philip,"  she  said,  and  they  parted. 

Her  last  words  kept  ringing  in  his  ears  as  he  made 
his  way  homeward.  "Good-by,  sir — Philip" — the 
child's  arrangement  of  words  was  odd  and  amusing, 
and  at  the  same  time  suggested  something  more. 
"Good-by,  Sir  Philip,"  had  a  different  meaning, 
though  the  words  were  the  same. 

"  Sir  Philip  —  eh  ? "  he  said  to  himself,  with  a  jerk 
of  the  head  —  "I  '11  be  more  than  that  some  day  !  " 


CHAPTER    II 

THE  night  came  down  with  leisurely  gloom.  A 
dim  starlight  pervaded  rather  than  shone  in  the 
sky  ;  Nature  seemed  somnolent  and  gravely  meditative. 
It  brooded  as  broods  a  man  who  is  seeking  his  way 
through  a  labyrinth  of  ideas  to  a  conclusion  still  evad- 
ing him.  This  sense  of  cogitation  enveloped  land  and 
sea,  and  was  as  tangible  to  feeling  as  human  presence. 

At  last  the  night  seemed  to  wake  from  reverie.  A 
movement,  a  thrill,  ran  through  the  spangled  vault  of 
dusk  and  sleep,  and  seemed  to  pass  over  the  world, 
rousing  the  sea  and  the  earth.  There  was  no  wind, 
apparently  no  breath  of  air,  yet  the  leaves  of  the  trees 
moved,  the  weather-vanes  turned  slightly,  the  animals 
in  the  byres  roused  themselves,  and  slumbering  folk, 
opening  their  eyes,  turned  over  in  their  beds,  and 
dropped  into  a  troubled  doze  again. 

Presently  there  came  a  long  moaning  sound  from 
the  tide,  not  loud  but  rather  mysterious  and  distant  — 
a  plaint,  a  threatening,  a  warning,  a  prelude  ? 

A  dull  laborer,  returning  from  late  toil,  felt  it,  and 
raised  his  head  in  a  perturbed  way,  as  though  some 
one  had  brought  him  news  of  a  far-off  disaster.  A 
midwife,  hurrying  to  a  lowly  birth-chamber,  shivered 
and  gathered  her  mantle  more  closely  about  her.  She 
looked  up  at  the  sky,  she  looked  out  over  the  sea,  then 
she  bent  her  head  and  said  to  herself  that  this  would 
not  be  a  good  night,  that  ill-luck  was  in  the  air.  "  The 


12       THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

mother  or  the  child  will  die,"  she  said  to  herself. 
A  'longshoreman,  reeling  home  from  deep  potations, 
was  conscious  of  it,  and,  turning  round  to  the  sea, 
snarled  at  it  and  said  yah !  in  swaggering  defiance. 
A  young  lad,  wandering  along  the  deserted  street, 
heard  it,  began  to  tremble,  and  sat  down  on  a  block 
of  stone  beside  the  doorway  of  a  baker's  shop.  He 
dropped  his  head  on  his  arms  and  his  chin  on  his 
knees,  shutting  out  the  sound  and  sobbing  quietly. 

Yesterday  his  mother  had  been  buried ;  to-night  his 
father's  door  had  been  closed  in  his  face.  He  scarcely 
knew  whether  his  being  locked  out  was  an  accident 
or  whether  it  was  intended.  He  thought  of  the  time 
when  his  father  had  ill-treated  his  mother  and  himself. 
That,  however,  had  stopped  at  last,  for  the  woman  had 
threatened  the  Royal  Court,  and  the  man,  having  no 
wish  to  face  its  summary  convictions,  thereafter  con- 
ducted himself  towards  them  both  with  a  morose 
indifference. 

The  boy  was  called  Ranulph,  a  name  which  had 
passed  to  him  through  several  generations  of  Jersey 
forbears  -  -  Ranulph  Delagarde.  He  was  being 
taught  the  trade  of  shipbuilding  in  St.  Aubin's  Bay. 
He  was  not  beyond  fourteen  years  of  age,  though  he 
looked  more,  so  tall  and  straight  and  self-possessed 
was  he. 

His  tears  having  ceased  soon,  he  began  to  think  of 
what  he  was  to  do  in  the  future.  He  would  never  go 
back  to  his  father's  house,  or  be  dependent  on  him  for 
aught.  Many  plans  came  to  his  mind.  He  would 
learn  his  trade  of  shipbuilding,  he  would  become  a 
master-builder,  then  a  shipowner,  with  fish  ing- vessels 
like  the  great  company  sending  fleets  to  Gaspe. 

At  the  moment  when  these  ambitious  plans  had 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   13 

reached  the  highest  point  of  imagination,  the  upper 
half  of  the  door  beside  him  opened  suddenly,  and  he 
heard  men's  voices.  He  was  about  to  rise  and  dis- 
appear, but  the  words  of  the  men  arrested  him,  and  he 
cowered  down  beside  the  stone.  One  of  the  men  was 
leaning  on  the  half-door,  speaking  in  French. 

"  I  tell  you  it  can't  go  wrong.  The  pilot  knows 
every  crack  in  the  coast.  I  left  Granville  at  three ; 
Rullecour  left  Chaussey  at  nine.  If  he  lands  safe,  and 
the  English  troops  ain't  roused,  he  '11  take  the  town 
and  hold  the  Island  easy  enough." 

"  But  the  pilot,  is  he  certain  safe  ? "  asked  another 
voice.  Ranulph  recognized  it  as  that  of  the  baker 
Carcaud,  who  owned  the  shop.  "Olivier  Delagarde 
is  n't  so  sure  of  him." 

Olivier  Delagarde  !  The  lad  started.  That  was  his 
father's  name!  He  shrank  as  from  a  blow  —  his 
father  was  betraying  Jersey  to  the  French  ! 

"  Of  course,  the  pilot,  he 's  all  right,"  the  French- 
man answered  the  baker.  "He  was  to  have  been 
hung  here  for  murder.  He  got  away,  and  now  he 's 
having  his  turn  by  fetching  Rullecour's  wolves  to 
eat  up  your  green-bellies !  By  to-morrow  at  seven 
Jersey  '11  belong  to  King  Louis." 

"  I  've  done  my  promise,"  rejoined  Carcaud  the 
baker ;  "  I  've  been  to  three  of  the  guard-houses  on  St. 
Clement's  and  Grouville.  In  two  the  men  are  drunk 
as  donkeys  ;  in  another  they  sleep  like  squids.  Rulle- 
cour he  can  march  straight  to  the  town  and  seize  it  — 
if  he  land  safe.  But  will  he  stand  by  's  word  to  we  ? 
You  know  the  saying,  '  Cadet  Roussel  has  two  sons  ; 
one  's  a  thief,  t'  other 's  a  rogue  ! '  There  's  two  Rulle- 
cours  —  Rullecour  before  the  catch  and  Rullecour 
after ! " 


I4   THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

"  He  '11  be  honest  to  us,  man,  or  he  '11  be  dead  inside 
a  week,  that 's  all." 

"  I  'm  to  be  Connetable  of  St.  Heliers,  and  you  're 
to  be  harbor-master  —  eh  ? " 

"  Naught  else :  you  don't  catch  flies  with  vinegar. 
Give  us  your  hand  —  why,  man,  it 's  doggish  cold !  " 

"Cold  hand,  healthy  heart.  How  many  men  will 
Rullecour  bring  ? " 

"  Two  thousand ;  mostly  conscripts  and  devil's 
beauties  from  Granville  and  St.  Malo  jails." 

"  Any  signals  yet  ?  " 

"  Two  —  from  Chaussey  at  five  o'clock.  Rullecour  '11 
try  to  land  at  Gorey.  Come,  let 's  be  off.  Dela- 
garde  's  there  now." 

The  boy  stiffened  with  horror  —  his  father  was  a 
traitor !  The  thought  pierced  his  brain  like  a  hot  iron. 
He  must  prevent  this  crime,  and  warn  the  Governor. 
He  prepared  to  steal  away.  Fortunately  the  back  of 
the  man's  head  was  towards  him. 

Carcaud  laughed  a  low,  malicious  laugh  as  he  replied 
to  the  Frenchman. 

"  Trust  the  quiet  Delagarde  !  There  's  nothing  worse 
nor  still  waters  !  He  '11  do  his  trick,  and  he  11  have 
his  share  if  the  rest  suck  their  thumbs.  He  does  n't 
wait  for  roasted  larks  to  drop  into  his  mouth  —  what 's 
that ! " 

It  was  Ranulph  stealing  away. 

In  an  instant  the  two  men  were  on  him,  and  a  hand 
was  clapped  to  his  mouth.  In  another  minute  he  was 
bound,  thrown  on  to  the  stone  floor  of  the  bakehouse, 
his  head  striking,  and  he  lost  consciousness. 

When  he  came  to  himself,  there  was  absolute  silence 
round  him  —  deathly,  oppressive  silence.  At  first  he 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG       15 

was  dazed,  but  at  length  all  that  had  happened  came 
back  to  him. 

Where  was  he  now  ?  His  feet  were  free ;  he  began 
to  move  them  about.  He  remembered  that  he  had 
been  flung  on  the  stone  floor  of  the  bakeroom.  This 
place  sounded  hollow  underneath  —  it  certainly  was 
not  the  bakeroom.  He  rolled  over  and  over.  Presently 
he  touched  a  wall  —  it  was  stone.  He  drew  himself  up 
to  a  sitting  posture,  but  his  head  struck  a  curved  stone 
ceiling.  Then  he  swung  round  and  moved  his  foot 
along  the  wall  — it  touched  iron.  He  felt  farther  with 
his  foot  —  something  clicked.  Now  he  understood ; 
he  was  in  the  oven  of  the  bakehouse,  with  his  hands 
bound. 

He  began  to  think  of  means  of  escape.  The  iron 
door  had  no  inside  latch.  There  was  a  small  damper 
covering  a  barred  hole,  through  which  perhaps  he 
might  be  able  to  get  a  hand,  if  only  it  were  free.  He 
turned  round  so  that  his  fingers  might  feel  the  grated 
opening.  The  edge  of  the  little  bars  was  sharp.  He 
placed  the  strap  binding  his  wrists  against  these  sharp 
edges,  and  drew  his  arms  up  and  down,  a  difficult  and 
painful  business.  The  iron  cut  his  hands  and  wrists 
at  first,  so  awkward  was  the  movement.  But,  steeling 
himself,  he  kept  on  steadily. 

At  last  the  straps  fell  apart,  and  his  hands  were 
free.  With  difficulty  he  thrust  one  through  the  bars. 
His  fingers  could  just  lift  the  latch.  Now  the  door 
creaked  on  its  hinges,  and  in  a  moment  he  was  out  on 
the  stone  flags  of  the  bakeroom.  Hurrying  through 
an  unlocked  passage  into  the  shop,  he  felt  his  way  to 
the  street  door,  but  it  was  securely  fastened.  The 
windows  ?  He  tried  them  both,  one  on  either  side, 
but  while  he  could  free  the  stout  wooden  shutters  on 


16       THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

the  inside,  a  heavy  iron  bar  secured  them  without,  and 
it  was  impossible  to  open  them. 

Feverish  with  anxiety,  he  sat  down  on  the  low 
counter,  with  his  hands  between  his  knees,  and  tried 
to  think  what  to  do.  In  the  numb  hopelessness  of 
the  moment  he  became  very  quiet.  His  mind  was 
confused,  but  his  senses  were  alert ;  he  was  in  a  kind 
of  dream,  yet  he  was  acutely  conscious  of  the  smell  of 
new-made  bread.  It  pervaded  the  air  of  the  place  ;  it 
somehow  crept  into  his  brain  and  his  being,  so  that,  as 
long  as  he  might  live,  the  smell  of  new-made  bread 
would  fetch  back  upon  him  the  nervous  shiver  and 
numbness  of  this  hour  of  danger. 

As  he  waited,  he  heard  a  noise  outside,  a  dac-clac  ! 
clac-clac  !  which  seemed  to  be  echoed  back  from  the 
wood  and  stone  of  the  houses  in  the  street,  and  then 
to  be  lifted  up  and  carried  away  over  the  roofs  and 
out  to  sea  —  clac-clac  !  clac-clac  !  It  was  not  the  tap 
of  a  blind  man's  staff  —  at  first  he  thought  it  might 
be ;  it  was  not  a  donkey's  foot  on  the  cobbles  ;  it  was 
not  the  broomsticks  of  the  witches  of  St.  Clement's 
Bay,  for  the  rattle  was  below  in  the  street,  and  the 
broomstick  rattle  is  heard  only  on  the  roofs,  as  the 
witches  fly  across  country  from  Rocbert  to  Bonne 
Nuit  Bay. 

This  clac-clac  came  from  the  sabots  of  some  night- 
farer.  Should  he  make  a  noise  and  attract  the  atten- 
tion of  the  passer-by?  No,  that  would  not  do.  It  might 
be  some  one  who  would  wish  to  know  whys  and  where- 
fores. He  must,  of  course,  do  his  duty  to  his  country, 
but  he  must  save  his  father,  too.  Bad  as  the  man  was, 
he  must  save  him,  though,  no  matter  what  happened, 
he  must  give  the  alarm.  His  reflections  tortured  him. 
Why  had  he  not  stopped  the  night-farer  ? 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   17 

Even  as  these  thoughts  passed  through  the  lad's 
mind,  the  clac-clac  had  faded  away  into  the  murmur 
of  the  stream  flowing  by  the  Rue  d'Egypte  to  the 
sea,  and  almost  beneath  his  feet.  There  flashed  on 
him  at  that  instant  what  little  Guida  Landresse  had 
said  a  few  days  before  as  she  lay  down  beside  this 
very  stream,  and  watched  the  water  wimpling  by. 
Trailing  her  fingers  through  it  dreamily,  the  child 
had  said  to  him  :  "  Ro,  won't  it  never  come  back  ? " 
She  always  called  him  "  Ro,"  because  when  beginning 
to  talk  she  could  not  say  Ranulph. 

Ro,  wont  it  never  come  back?  But  while  yet  he 
recalled  the  words,  another  sound  mingled  again  with 
the  stream  —  clac-clac!  clac-clac!  Suddenly  it  came 
to  him  who  was  the  wearer  of  the  sabots  making  this 
peculiar  clatter  in  the  night.  It  was  Dormy  Jamais, 
the  man  who  never  slept.  For  two  years  the  clac-clac 
of  Dormy  Jamais'  sabots  had  not  been  heard  in  the 
streets  of  St.  Heliers  ;  he  had  been  wandering  in 
France,  a  daft  pilgrim.  Ranulph  remembered  how 
these  sabots  used  to  pass  and  repass  the  doorway  of 
his  own  home.  It  was  said  that  while  Dormy  Jamais 
paced  the  streets  there  was  no  need  of  guard  or 
watchman.  Many  a  time  had  Ranulph  shared  his 
supper  with  the  poor  beganne  whose  origin  no  one 
knew,  whose  real  name  had  long  since  dropped  into 
oblivion. 

The  rattle  of  the  sabots  came  nearer,  the  footsteps 
were  now  in  front  of  the  window.  Even  as  Ranulph 
was  about  to  knock  and  call  the  poor  vagrant's  name, 
the  clac-clac  stopped,  and  then  there  came  a  sniffing 
at  the  shutters  as  a  dog  sniffs  at  the  door  of  a  larder. 
Following  the  sniffing  came  a  guttural  noise  of  empti- 
ness and  desire.  Now  there  was  no  mistake  ;  it  was 


1 8   THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

the  half-witted  fellow  beyond  all  doubt,  and  he  would 
help  him  —  Dormy  Jamais  should  help  him  :  he  should 
go  and  warn  the  Governor  and  the  soldiers  at  the 
Hospital,  while  he  himself  would  speed  to  Gorey  in 
search  of  his  father.  He  would  alarm  the  regiment 
there  at  the  same  time. 

He  knocked  and  shouted.  Dormy  Jamais,  fright- 
ened, jumped  back  into  the  street.  Ranulph  called 
again,  and  yet  again,  and  now  at  last  Dormy  recog- 
nized the  voice.  With  a  growl  of  mingled  reassur- 
ance and  hunger,  he  lifted  down  the  iron  bar  from  the 
shutters.  In  a  moment  Ranulph  was  outside  with 
two  loaves  of  bread,  which  he  put  into  Dormy  Jamais' 
arms.  The  daft  one  whinnied  with  delight. 

"What's  o'clock,  bread-man?"  he  asked  with  a 
chuckle. 

Ranulph  gripped  his  shoulders.  "  See,  Dormy 
Jamais,  I  want  you  to  go  to  the  Governor's  house  at 
La  Motte,  and  tell  them  that  the  French  are  coming, 
that  they're  landing  at  Gorey  now.  Then  to  the 
Hospital,  and  tell  the  sentry  there.  Go,  Dormy  — 
allez  kedainne ! " 

Dormy  Jamais  tore  at  a  loaf  with  his  teeth,  and 
crammed  a  huge  crust  into  his  mouth. 

"  Come,  tell  me,  tell  me,  will  you  go,  Dormy  ? "  the 
lad  asked  impatiently. 

Dormy  Jamais  nodded  his  head,  grunted,  and,  turn- 
ing on  his  heel  with  Ranulph,  clattered  slowly  up  the 
street.  The  lad  sprang  ahead  of  him,  and  ran  swiftly 
up  the  Rue  d'Egypte,  into  the  Vier  Marchi,  and  on 
over  the  Town  Hill  along  the  road  to  Grouville. 


CHAPTER   III 

SINCE  the  days  of  Henry  III.  of  England  the 
hawk  of  war  that  broods  in  France  has  hovered 
along  that  narrow  strip  of  sea  dividing  the  island  of 
Jersey  from  the  duchy  of  Normandy.  Eight  times 
has  it  descended,  and  eight  times  has  it  hurried  back 
with  broken  pinion.  Among  these  truculent  invasions 
two  stand  out  boldly :  the  spirited  and  gallant  attack 
by  Bertrand  du  Guesclin,  Constable  of  France ;  and 
the  freebooting  adventure  of  Rullecour,  with  his  mot- 
ley following  of  gentlemen  and  criminals.  Rullecour 
it  was,  soldier  of  fortune,  gambler,  ruffian  and  embez- 
zler, to  whom  the  King  of  France  had  secretly  given 
the  mission  to  conquer  the  unconquerable  little  island. 

From  the  Chaussey  Isles  the  filibuster  saw  the  sig- 
nal light  which  the  traitor  Olivier  Delagarde  had  set 
upon  the  heights  of  Le  Couperon,  where,  ages  ago, 
Caesar  built  fires  to  summon  from  Gaul  his  devouring 
legions. 

All  was  propitious  for  the  attack.  There  was  no 
moon,  only  a  meagre  starlight  when  they  set  forth 
from  Chaussey.  The  journey  was  made  in  little  more 
than  an  hour,  and  Rullecour  himself  was  among  the 
first  to  see  the  shores  of  Jersey  loom  darkly  in  front. 
Beside  him  stood  the  murderous  pilot  who  was  leading 
in  the  expedition,  the  colleague  of  Olivier  Delagarde. 

Presently  the  pilot  gave  an  exclamation  of  surprise 
and  anxiety  —  the  tides  and  currents  were  bearing 


20       THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG 

them  away  from  the  intended  landing-place  !  It  was 
now  almost  low  water,  and  instead  of  an  immediate 
shore,  there  lay  before  them  a  vast  field  of  scarred 
rocks,  dimly  seen.  He  gave  the  signal  to  lay-to,  and 
himself  took  the  bearings.  The  tide  was  going  out 
rapidly,  disclosing  reefs  on  either  hand.  He  drew  in 
carefully  to  the  right  of  the  rock  known  as  L'Echique- 
lez,  up  through  a  passage  scarce  wide  enough  for 
canoes,  and  to  Roque  Platte,  the  south-eastern  projec- 
tion of  the  island. 

You  may  range  the  seas  from  the  Yugon  Strait  to 
the  Erebus  volcano,  and  you  will  find  no  such  landing- 
place  for  imps  or  men  as  that  field  of  rocks  on  the 
south-east  corner  of  Jersey  called,  with  a  malicious 
irony,  the  Bane  des  Violets.  The  great  rocks  La 
Coniere,  La  Longy,  Le  Gros  Etac,  Le  Teton,  and 
the  Petite  Sambiere,  rise  up  like  volcanic  monuments 
from  a  floor  of  lava  and  trailing  vraic,  which  at  half- 
tide  makes  the  sea  a  tender  mauve  and  violet.  The 
passages  of  safety  between  these  ranges  of  reef  are  but 
narrow  at  high  tide ;  at  half  tide,  when  the  currents 
are  changing  most,  the  violet  field  becomes  the  floor 
of  a  vast  mortuary  chapel  for  unknowing  mariners. 

A  battery  of  four  guns  defended  the  post  on  the 
landward  side  of  this  bank  of  the  heavenly  name.  Its 
guards  were  asleep  or  in  their  cups.  They  yielded, 
without  resistance,  to  the  foremost  of  the  invaders. 
But  here  Rullecour  and  his  pilot,  looking  back  upon 
the  way  they  had  come,  saw  the  currents  driving  the 
transport  boats  hither  and  thither  in  confusion.  Jer- 
sey was  not  to  be  conquered  without  opposition  —  no 
army  of  defense  was  abroad,  but  the  elements  roused 
themselves  and  furiously  attacked  the  fleet.  Batta- 
lions unable  to  land  drifted  back  with  the  tides  to 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   21 

Granville,  whence  they  had  come.  Boats  containing 
the  heavy  ammunition  and  a  regiment  of  conscripts 
were  battered  upon  the  rocks,  and  hundreds  of  the 
invaders  found  an  unquiet  grave  upon  the  Bane  des 
Violets. 

Presently  the  traitor .  Delagarde  arrived  and  was 
welcomed  warmly  by  Rullecour.  The  night  wore  on, 
and  at  last  the  remaining  legions  were  landed.  A 
force  was  left  behind  to  guard  La  Roque  Platte,  and 
then  the  journey  across  country  to  the  sleeping  town 
began. 

With  silent,  drowsing  batteries  in  front  and  on 
either  side  of  them,  the  French  troops  advanced,  the 
marshes  of  Samares  and  the  sea  on  their  left,  churches 
and  manor  houses  on  their  right,  all  silent.  Not  yet 
had  a  blow  been  struck  for  the  honor  of  this  land  and 
of  the  Kingdom. 

But  a  blind  injustice  was,  in  its  own  way,  doing  the 
work  of  justice.  On  the  march  Delagarde,  suspecting 
treachery  to  himself,  not  without  reason,  required  of 
Rullecour  guarantee  for  the  fulfillment  of  his  pledge 
to  make  him  Vicomte  of  the  island  when  victory 
should  be  theirs.  Rullecour,  however,  had  also  pro- 
mised the  post  to  a  reckless  young  officer,  the  comte 
de  Tournay,  of  the  House  of  Vaufontaine,  who,  under 
the  assumed  name  of  Yves  Savary  dit  Detricand, 
marched  with  him.  Rullecour  answered  Delagarde 
churlishly,  and  would  say  nothing  till  the  town  was 
taken  —  the  /crivain  must  wait.  But  Delagarde  had 
been  drinking,  he  was  in  a  mood  to  be  reckless ;  he 
would  not  wait,  he  demanded  an  immediate  pledge. 

"  By  and  by,  my  doubting  Thomas,"  said  Rullecour. 

"  No,  now,  by  the  blood  of  Peter !  "  answered  Dela- 
garde, laying  a  hand  upon  his  sword. 


22   THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

The  French  leader  called  a  sergeant  to  arrest  him. 
Delagarde  instantly  drew  his  sword  and  attacked 
Rullecour,  but  was  cut  down  from  behind  by  the 
scimitar  of  a  swaggering  Turk,  who  had  joined  the 
expedition  as  aide-de-camp  to  the  filibustering  gen- 
eral, tempted  thereto  by  promises  of  a  harem  of  the 
choicest  Jersey  ladies,  well  worthy  of  this  cousin  of 
the  Emperor  of  Morocco. 

The  invaders  left  Delagarde  lying  where  he  fell. 
What  followed  this  oblique  retribution  could  satisfy 
no  ordinary  logic,  nor  did  it  meet  the  demands  of 
poetic  justice.  For,  as  a  company  of  soldiers  from 
Grouville,  alarmed  out  of  sleep  by  a  distracted  youth, 
hurried  towards  St.  Heliers,  they  found  Delagarde 
lying  by  the  roadside,  and  they  misunderstood  what 
had  happened.  Stooping  over  him  an  officer  said 
pityingly :  - 

"  See  —  he  got  this  wound  fighting  the  French  !  " 

With  the  soldiers  was  the  youth  who  had  warned 
them.  He  ran  forward  with  a  cry,  and  knelt  beside 
the  wounded  man.  He  had  no  tears,  he  had  no  sor- 
row. He  was  only  sick  and  dumb,  and  he  trembled 
with  misery  as  he  lifted  up  his  father's  head.  The 
eyes  of  Olivier  Delagarde  opened. 

"  Ranulph  —  they  've  killed  —  me,"  gasped  the 
stricken  man  feebly,  and  his  head  fell  back. 

An  officer  touched  the  youth's  arm.  "  He  is  gone," 
said  he.  "Don't  fret,  lad,  he  died  fighting  for  his 
country." 

The  lad  made  no  reply,  and  the  soldiers  hurried  on 
towards  the  town. 

He  died  figJiting  for  his  country  !  So  that  was  to 
be  it,  Ranulph  thought  to  himself :  his  father  was  to 
have  a  glorious  memory,  while  he  himself  knew  how 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   23 

vile  the  man  was.  One  thing,  however :  he  was  glad 
that  Olivier  Delagarde  was  dead.  How  strangely  had 
things  happened !  He  had  come  to  stay  a  traitor  in 
his  crime,  and  here  he  found  a  martyr.  But  was  not 
he  himself  likewise  a  traitor  ?  Ought  not  he  to  have 
alarmed  the  town  first  before  he  tried  to  find  his 
father  ?  Had  Dormy  Jamais  warned  the  Governor  ? 
Clearly  not,  or  the  town  bells  would  be  ringing  and 
the  Islanders  giving  battle.  What  would  the  world 
think  of  him ! 

Well,  what  was  the  use  of  fretting  here  ?  He 
would  go  on  to  the  town,  help  to  fight  the  French, 
and  die ;  that  would  be  the  best  thing !  He  knelt, 
and  unclasped  his  father's  fingers  from  the  handle 
of  his  sword.  The  steel  was  cold,  it  made  him 
shiver.  He  had  no  farewell  to  make.  He  looked  out 
to  sea.  The  tide  would  come  and  carry  his  father's 
body  out,  perhaps — far  out,  and  sink  it  in  the  deepest 
depths.  If  not  that,  then  the  people  would  bury  Oli- 
vier Delagarde  as  a  patriot.  He  determined  that 
he  himself  would  not  live  to  see  such  shameless 
mockery. 

As  he  sped  along  towards  the  town  he  asked  him- 
self why  nobody  suspected  the  traitor.  One  reason 
for  it  occurred  to  him :  his  father,  as  the  whole  island 
knew,  had  a  fishing-hut  at  Gorey.  They  would  im- 
agine him  on  the  way  to  it  when  he  met  the  French, 
for  he  often  spent  the  night  there.  He  himself  had 
told  his  tale  to  the  soldiers :  how  he  had  heard  the 
baker  and  the  Frenchman  talking  at  the  shop  in  the 
Rue  d' Egypt e.  Yes,  but  suppose  the  French  were 
driven  out,  and  the  baker  taken  prisoner  and  should 
reveal  his  father's  complicity!  And  suppose  people 
asked  why  he  himself  did  not  go  at  once  to  the  Hospi- 


24       THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

tal  Barracks  in  the  town  and  to  the  Governor,  and 
afterwards  to  Gorey  ? 

These  were  direful  imaginings.  He  felt  that  it  was 
no  use,  that  the  lie  could  not  go  on  concerning  his 
father.  The  world  would  know  ;  the  one  thing  left 
for  him  was  to  die.  He  was  only  a  boy,  but  he  could 
fight.  Had  not  young  Philip  d'Avranche,  the  midship- 
man, been  in  deadly  action  many  times  ?  He  was 
nearly  as  old  as  Philip  d'Avranche  —  yes,  he  would 
fight,  and,  fighting,  he  would  die.  To  live  as  the  son 
of  such  a  father  was  too  pitiless  a  shame. 

He  ran  forward,  but  a  weakness  was  on  him ;  he 
was  very  hungry  and  thirsty  —  and  the  sword  was 
heavy.  Presently,  as  he  went,  he  saw  a  stone  well 
near  a  cottage  by  the  roadside.  On  a  ledge  of  the 
well  stood  a  bucket  of  water.  He  tilted  the  bucket 
and  drank.  He  would  have  liked  to  ask  for  bread  at 
the  cottage-door,  but  he  said  to  himself,  Why  should 
he  eat,  for  was  he  not  going  to  die  ?  Yet  why  should 
he  not  eat,  even  if  he  were  going  to  die  ?  He  turned 
his  head  wistfully,  he  was  so  faint  with  hunger.  The 
force  driving  him  on,  however,  was  greater  than  hun- 
ger —  he  ran  harder.  .  .  .  But  undoubtedly  the  sword 
was  heavy ! 


CHAPTER   IV 

IN  the  Vier  March!  the  French  flag  was  flying, 
French  troops  occupied  it,  French  sentries  guarded 
the  five  streets  entering  into  it.  Rullecour,  the 
French  adventurer,  held  the  Lieutenant-Governor  of 
the  Isle  captive  in  the  Cohue  Royale  ;  and  by  threats 
of  fire  and  pillage  thought  to  force  capitulation.  For 
his  final  argument  he  took  the  Governor  to  the  door- 
way, and  showed  him  two  hundred  soldiers  with 
lighted  torches  ready  to  fire  the  town. 

When  the  French  soldiers  first  entered  the  Vier 
Marchi  there  was  Dormy  Jamais  on  the  roof  of  the 
Cohue  Royale,  calmly  munching  his  bread.  When 
he  saw  Rullecour  and  the  Governor  appear,  he  chuc- 
kled to  himself,  and  said,  in  Jersey  patois :  "  I  vaut 
mux  alouonyi  1'bras  que  1'co,"  which  is  to  say,  It  is 
better  to  stretch  the  arm  than  the  neck.  The  Gov- 
ernor would  have  done  more  wisely,  he  thought,  to 
believe  the  poor  beganne,  and  to  have  risen  earlier. 
Dormy  Jamais  had  a  poor  opinion  of  a  governor  who 
slept.  He  himself  was  not  a  governor,  yet  was  he 
not  always  awake  ?  He  had  gone  before  dawn  to  the 
Governor's  house,  had  knocked,  had  given  Ranulph 
Delagarde's  message,  had  been  called  a  dirty  buzard, 
and  been  sent  away  by  the  crusty,  incredulous  ser- 
vant. Then  he  had  gone  to  the  Hospital  Barracks, 
was  there  iniquitously  called  a  lousy  toad,  and  had 
been  driven  off  with  his  quartern  loaf,  muttering 


26       THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

through  the  dough  the  Island  proverb,  While  the 
mariner  swigs  the  tide  rises. 

Had  the  Governor  remained  as  cool  as  the  poor 
vagrant,  he  would  not  have  shrunk  at  the  sight  of 
the  incendiaries,  yielded  to  threats,  and  signed  the 
capitulation  of  the  Island.  But  that  capitulation  being 
signed,  and  notice  of  it  sent  to  the  British  troops,  with 
orders  to  surrender  and  bring  their  arms  to  the  Cohue 
Royale,  it  was  not  cordially  received  by  the  officers  in 
command. 

"Je  ne  comprends  pas  le  frangais"  said  Captain 
Mulcaster,  at  Elizabeth  Castle,  as  he  put  the  letter 
into  his  pocket  unread. 

"  The  English  Governor  will  be  hanged,  and  the 
French  will  burn  the  town,"  responded  the  envoy. 

"  Let  them  begin  to  hang  and  burn  and  be  damned, 
for  I  '11  not  surrender  the  castle  or  the  British  flag  so 
long  as  I  Ve  a  man  to  defend  it,  to  please  anybody  !  " 
answered  Mulcaster. 

"  We  shall  return  in  numbers,"  said  the  Frenchman, 
threateningly. 

"  I  shall  be  delighted :  we  shall  have  the  more  to 
kill,"  Mulcaster  replied. 

Then  the  captive  Lieut  en  ant-Governor  was  sent  to 
Major  Peirson  at  the  head  of  his  troops  on  the  Mont 
es  Pendus,  with  counsel  to  surrender. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  this  has  been  a  very  sudden  surprise, 
for  I  was  made  prisoner  before  I  was  out  of  my  bed 
this  morning." 

"  Sir,"  replied  Peirson,  the  young  hero  of  twenty- 
four,  who  achieved  death  and  glory  between  a  sunrise 
and  a  noontide,  "  give  me  leave  to  tell  you  that  the 
78th  Regiment  has  not  yet  been  the  least  surprised." 

From  Elizabeth  Castle  came  defiance  and  cannon- 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG       27 

ade,  driving  back  Rullecour  and  his  filibusters  to  the 
Cohue  Royale  :  from  Mont  Orgueil,  from  the  Hospital, 
from  St.  Peter's  came  the  English  regiments ;  from 
the  other  parishes  swarmed  the  militia,  all  eager  to 
recover  their  beloved  Vier  Marchi.  Two  companies 
of  light  infantry,  leaving  the  Mont  es  Pendus,  stole 
round  the  town  and  placed  themselves  behind  the 
invaders  on  the  Town  Hill ;  the  rest  marched  direct 
upon  the  enemy.  Part  went  by  the  Grande  Rue,  and 
part  by  the  Rue  d'Driere,  converging  to  the  point 
of  attack  ;  and  as  the  light  infantry  came  down  from 
the  hill  by  the  Rue  des  Tres  Pigeons,  Peirson  entered 
the  Vier  Marchi  by  the  Route  es  Couochons.  On 
one  side  of  the  square,  where  the  Cohue  Royale  made 
a  wall  to  fight  before,  were  the  French.  Radiating 
from  this  were  five  streets  and  passages  like  the  spokes 
of  a  wheel,  and  from  these  now  poured  the  defenders 
of  the  isle. 

A  volley  came  from  the  Cohue  Royale,  then  an- 
other, and  another.  The  place  was  small :  friend  and 
foe  were  crowded  upon  each  other.  The  fighting 
became  at  once  a  hand-to-hand  encounter.  Cannon 
were  useless,  gun-carriages  overturned.  Here  a  drum- 
mer fell  wounded,  but  continued  beating  his  drum  to 
the  last ;  there  a  Glasgow  soldier  struggled  with  a 
French  officer  for  the  flag  of  the  invaders ;  yonder 
a  handful  of  Malouins  doggedly  held  the  foot  of  La 
Pyramide,  until  every  one  was  cut  down  by  overpow- 
ering numbers  of  British  and  Jersiais.  The  British 
leader  was  conspicuous  upon  his  horse.  Shot  after 
shot  was  fired  at  him.  Suddenly  he  gave  a  cry,  reeled 
in  his  saddle,  and  sank,  mortally  wounded,  into  the 
arms  of  a  brother  officer. 

For  a  moment  his  men  fell  back. 


28   THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

In  the  midst  of  the  deadly  turmoil  a  youth  ran  for- 
ward from  a  group  of  combatants,  caught  the  bridle 
of  the  horse  from  which  Peirson  had  fallen,  mounted, 
and,  brandishing  a  short  sword,  called  upon  his  dis- 
mayed and  wavering  followers  to  advance;  which 
they  instantly  did  with  fury  and  courage.  It  was 
Midshipman  Philip  d'Avranche.  Twenty  muskets 
were  discharged  at  him.  One  bullet  cut  the  coat  on 
his  shoulder,  another  grazed  the  back  of  his  hand,  a 
third  scarred  the  pommel  of  the  saddle,  and  still  an- 
other wounded  his  horse.  Again  and  again  the  Eng- 
lish called  upon  him  to  dismount,  for  he  was  made  a 
target,  but  he  refused,  until  at  last  the  horse  was 
shot  under  him.  Then  once  more  he  joined  in  the 
hand-to-hand  encounter. 

Windows  near  the  ground,  such  as  were  not  shat- 
tered, were  broken  by  bullets.  Cannon-balls  imbedded 
themselves  in  the  masonry  and  the  heavy  doorways. 
The  upper  windows  were  safe,  however :  the  shots  did 
not  range  so  high.  At  one  of  these,  over  a  watch- 
maker's shop,  a  little  girl  was  to  be  seen,  looking 
down  with  eager  interest.  Presently  an  old  man 
came  in  view  and  led  her  away.  A  few  minutes  of 
fierce  struggle  passed,  and  then  at  another  window  on 
the  floor  below  the  child  appeared  again.  She  saw  a 
youth  with  a  sword  hurrying  towards  the  Cohue  Roy- 
ale  from  a  tangled  mass  of  combatants.  As  he  ran, 
a  British  soldier  fell  in  front  of  him.  The  youth 
dropped  the  sword  and  grasped  the  dead  man's  mus- 
ket. 

The  child  clapped  her  hands  on  the  window. 

"  It 's  Ro !  it 's  Ro !  "  she  cried,  and  disappeared 
again. 

"  Ro,"  with  white  face,  hatless,  coatless,  pushed  on 


JOHN  SiNfiLET<»"  COTLEY,  I'inxt. 


DEATH    OF    M. 


£    PIERSON 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   29 

through  the  melee.  Rullecour,  the  now  disheartened 
French  general,  stood  on  the  steps  of  the  Cohue  Roy- 
ale.  With  a  vulgar  cruelty  and  cowardice  he  was 
holding  the  Governor  by  the  arm,  hoping  thereby  to 
protect  his  own  person  from  the  British  fire. 

Here  was  what  the  lad  had  been  trying  for  —  the 
sight  of  this  man  Rullecour.  There  was  one  small 
clear  space  between  the  English  and  the  French, 
where  stood  a  gun-carriage.  He  ran  to  it,  leaned  the 
musket  on  the  gun,  and,  regardless  of  the  shots  fired 
at  him,  took  aim  steadily.  A  French  bullet  struck 
the  wooden  wheel  of  the  carriage,  and  a  splinter 
gashed  his  cheek.  He  did  not  move,  but  took  sight 
again,  and  fired.  Rullecour  fell,  shot  through  the 
jaw.  A  cry  of  fury  and  dismay  went  up  from  the 
French  at  the  loss  of  their  leader,  a  shout  of  triumph 
from  the  British. 

The  Frenchmen  had  had  enough.  They  broke  and 
ran.  Some  rushed  for  doorways  and  threw  them- 
selves within,  many  scurried  into  the  Rue  des  Tres 
Pigeons,  others  madly  fought  their  way  into  Morier 
Lane. 

At  this  moment  the  door  of  the  watchmaker's  shop 
opened,  and  the  little  girl  who  had  been  seen  at  the 
window  ran  into  the  square,  calling  out  "  Ro !  Ro !  " 
It  was  Guida  Landresse. 

Among  the  French  flying  for  refuge  was  the  garish 
Turk,  Rullecour's  ally.  Suddenly  the  now  frightened, 
crying  child  got  into  his  path  and  tripped  him  up. 
Wild  with  rage  he  made  a  stroke  at  her,  but  at  that 
instant  his  scimitar  was  struck  aside  by  a  youth  cov- 
ered with  the  smoke  and  grime  of  battle.  He  caught 
up  the  child  to  his  arms,  and  hurried  with  her  through 
the  melee  to  the  watchmaker's  doorway.  There  stood 


30       THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

a  terror-stricken  woman  —  Madame  Landresse,  who 
had  just  made  her  way  into  the  square.  Placing  the 
child  in  her  arms,  Philip  d'Avranche  staggered  inside 
the  house,  faint  and  bleeding  from  a  wound  in  the 
shoulder. 

The  battle  of  Jersey  was  over. 

"  Ah  bah  !  "  said  Dormy  Jamais  from  the  roof  of  the 
Cohue  Royale  ;  "  now  I  '11  toll  the  bell  for  that  achocre 
of  a  Frenchman.  Then  I  '11  finish  my  supper." 

Poising  a  half -loaf  of  bread  on  the  ledge  of  the  roof, 
he  began  to  slowly  toll  the  cracked  bell  at  his  hand 
for  Rullecour  the  filibuster. 

The  bell  clanged  out,  Chicane  —  chicane  !  Chicane 
—  chicane  ! 

Another  bell  answered  from  the  church  by  the 
square,  a  deep,  mournful  note.  It  was  tolling  for 
Peirson  and  his  dead  comrades. 

Against  the  statue  in  the  Vier  Marchi  leaned  Ra- 
nulph  Delagarde.  An  officer  came  up  and  held  out  a 
hand  to  him.  "  Your  shot  ended  the  business,"  said 
he.  "  You  're  a  brave  fellow.  What  is  your  name  ? " 

"Ranulph  Delagarde,  sir." 

"  Delagarde' —  eh  ?  Then  well  done,  Delagardes ! 
They  say  your  father  was  the  first  man  killed.  We 
won't  forget  that,  my  lad." 

Sinking  down  upon  the  base  of  the  statue,  Ranulph 
did  not  stir  or  reply,  and  the  officer,  thinking  he  was 
grieving  for  his  father,  left  him  alone. 


BOOK  II 

{ELEVEN  YEARS  AFTER} 
CHAPTER  V 

'THHE  King  of  France  was  no  longer  sending 
JL  adventurers  to  capture  the  outposts  of  England. 
He  was  rather,  in  despair,  beginning  to  wind  in  again 
the  coil  of  disaster  which  had  spun  out  through  the 
helpless  fingers  of  Neckar,  Calonne,  Brienne  and  the 
rest,  and  was  in  the  end  to  bind  his  own  hands  for 
the  guillotine. 

The  Isle  of  Jersey,  like  a  scout  upon  the  borders  of 
a  foeman's  country,  looked  out  over  St.  Michael's 
Basin  to  those  provinces  where  the  war  of  the  Vendee 
was  soon  to  strike  France  from  within,  while  England, 
and  presently  all  Europe,  should  strike  her  from 
without. 

War,  or  the  apprehension  of  war,  was  in  the  air. 
The  people  of  the  little  isle,  living  always  within  the 
influence  of  natural  wonder  and  the  power  of  the 
elements,  were  deeply  superstitious ;  and  as  news  of 
dark  deeds  done  in  Paris  crept  across  from  Carteret 
or  St.  Malo,  as  men-of-war  anchored  in  the  tideway, 
and  English  troops,  against  the  hour  of  trouble,  came, 
transport  after  transport,  into  the  harbor  of  St.  Heliers, 
they  began  to  see  visions  and  dream  dreams.  One 
peasant  heard  the  witches  singing  a  chorus  of  carnage 


32   THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

at  Rocbert  ;  another  saw,  towards  the  Minquiers,  a 
great  army  like  a  mirage  upon  the  sea ;  others  declared 
that  certain  French  refugees  in  the  Island  had  the 
evil  eye  and  bewitched  their  cattle  ;  and  a  woman,  wild 
with  grief  because  her  child  had  died  of  a  sudden  sick- 
ness, meeting  a  little  Frenchman,  the  Chevalier  du 
Champsavoys,  in  the  Rue  des  Tres  Pigeons,  thrust  at 
his  face  with  her  knitting-needle,  and  then,  Protestant 
though  she  was,  made  the  sacred  sign,  as  though  to 
defeat  the  evil  eye. 

This  superstition  and  fanaticism  so  strong  in  the 
populace  now  and  then  burst  forth  in  untamable  fury 
and  riot.  So  that  when,  on  the  sixteenth  of  September, 
1792,  the  gay  morning  was  suddenly  overcast,  and  a 
black  curtain  was  drawn  over  the  bright  sun,  the  peo- 
ple of  Jersey,  working  in  the  fields,  vraicking  among 
the  rocks,  or  knitting  in  their  doorways,  stood  aghast, 
and  knew  not  what  was  upon  them. 

Some  began  to  say  the  Lord's  Prayer,  some  in 
superstitious  terror  ran  to  the  secret  hole  in  the  wall, 
to  the  chimney,  or  to  the  bedstead,  or  dug  up  the 
earthen  floor,  to  find  the  stocking  full  of  notes  and 
gold,  which  might,  perchance,  come  with  them  safe 
through  any  cataclysm,  or  start  them  again  in  business 
in  another  world.  Some  began  fearfully  to  sing  hymns, 
and  a  few  to  swear  freely.  These  latter  were  chiefly 
carters,  whose  salutations  to  each  other  were  mainly 
oaths,  because  of  the  extreme  narrowness  of  the  Island 
roads,  and  sailors  to  whom  profanity  was  as  daily  bread. 

In  St.  Heliers,  after  the  first  stupefaction,  people 
poured  into  the  streets.  They  gathered  most  where 
met  the  Rue  d'Driere  and  the  Rue  d' Egypt e.  Here 
stood  the  old  prison,  and  the  spot  was  called  the  Place 
du  Vier  Prison. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   33 

Men  and  women  with  breakfast  still  in  their  mouths 
mumbled  their  terror  to  each  other.  A  lobster-woman 
shrieking  that  the  Day  of  Judgment  was  come,  instinc- 
tively straightened  her  cap,  smoothed  out  her  dress  of 
molleton,  and  put  on  her  sabots.  A  carpenter,  hearing 
her  terrified  exclamations,  put  on  his  sabots  also, 
stooped  whimpering  to  the  stream  running  from  the 
Rue  d' Egypt e,  and  began  to  wash  his  face.  A  dozen 
of  his  neighbors  did  the  same.  Some  of  the  women, 
however,  went  on  knitting  hard,  as  they  gabbled 
prayers  and  looked  at  the  fast-blackening  sun.  Knit- 
ting was  to  Jersey  women,  like  breathing  or  tale- 
bearing, life  itself.  With  their  eyes  closing  upon 
earth  they  would  have  gone  on  knitting,  and  dropped 
no  stitches. 

A  dusk  came  down  like  that  over  Pompeii  and 
Herculaneum.  The  tragedy  of  fear  went  hand  in 
hand  with  burlesque  commonplace.  The  gray  stone 
walls  of  the  houses  grew  darker  and  darker,  and 
seemed  to  close  in  on  the  dumfounded,  hysterical 
crowd.  Here  some  one  was  shouting  command  to 
imaginary  militia ;  there  an  aged  crone  was  offering, 
without  price,  simnels  and  black  butter,  as  a  sort  of 
propitiation  for  an  imperfect  past ;  and  from  a  window 
a  notorious  evil-liver  was  frenziedly  crying  that  she 
had  heard  the  devil  and  his  Rocbert  witches  reveling 
in  the  prison  dungeons  the  night  before.  Thereupon 
a  long-haired  fanatic,  once  a  barber,  with  a  gift  for 
mad  preaching,  sprang  upon  the  Pompe  des  Brigands, 
and  declaring  that  the  Last  Day  was  come,  shrieked : 

"  The  Spirit  of  the  Lord  is  iipon  me  !  He  hath  sent 
me  to  proclaim  liberty  to  the  captives,  and  the  opening 
of  the  prison  to  them,  that  are  bound!11 

Some  one  thrust  into  his  hand  a  torch.     He  waved 


34       THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

it  to  and  fro  in  his  wild  harangue ;  he  threw  up  his 
arms  towards  the  ominous  gloom,  and  with  blatant 
fury  ordered  open  the  prison  doors.  Other  torches 
and  candles  appeared,  and  the  mob  trembled  to  and 
fro  in  delirium. 

"  The  prison  !  Open  the  Vier  Prison  1  Break  down 
the  doors !  Gatd'en'ale  —  drive  out  the  devils  !  Free 
the  prisoners —  the  poor  vauriens!  "  the  crowd  shouted, 
rushing  forward  with  sticks  and  weapons. 

The  prison  arched  the  street  as  Temple  Bar  once 
spanned  the  Strand.  They  crowded  under  the  arch- 
way, overpowered  the  terror-stricken  jailer,  and,  batter- 
ing open  the  door  in  frenzy,  called  the  inmates  forth. 

They  looked  to  see  issue  some  sailor  seized  for 
whistling  of  a  Sabbath,  some  profane  peasant  who  had 
presumed  to  wear  pattens  in  church,  some  profaner 
peasant  who  had  not  doffed  his  hat  to  the  Connetable, 
or  some  slipshod  militiaman  who  had  gone  to  parade 
in  his  sabots,  thereby  offending  the  red-robed  dignity 
of  the  Royal  Court. 

Instead,  there  appeared  a  little  Frenchman  of  the 
most  refined  and  unusual  appearance.  The  blue  cloth 
of  his  coat  set  off  the  extreme  paleness  of  a  small  but 
serene  face  and  high  round  forehead.  The  hair,  a 
beautiful  silver  gray  which  time  only  had  powdered, 
was  tied  in  a  queue  behind.  The  little  gentleman's 
hand  was  as  thin  and  fine  as  a  lady's,  his  shoulders 
were  narrow  and  slightly  stooped,  his  eye  was  eloquent 
and  benign.  His  dress  was  amazingly  neat,  but  showed 
constant  brushing  and  signs  of  the  friendly  repairing 
needle. 

The  whole  impression  was  that  of  a  man  whom  a 
whiff  of  wind  would  blow  away ;  with  the  body  of  an 
ascetic  and  the  simplicity  of  a  child.  The  face  had 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   35 

some  particular  sort  of  wisdom,  difficult  to  define  and 
impossible  to  imitate.  He  held  in  his  hand  a  tiny 
cane  of  the  sort  carried  at  the  court  of  Louis  Quinze. 
Louis  Capet  himself  had  given  it  to  him ;  and  you 
might  have  had  the  life  of  the  little  gentleman,  but 
not  this  cane  with  the  tiny  golden  bust  of  his  unhappy 
monarch. 

He  stood  on  the  steps  of  the  prison  and  looked 
serenely  on  the  muttering,  excited  crowd. 

"  I  fear  there  is  a  mistake,"  said  he,  coughing  a 
little  into  his  fingers.  "  You  do  not  seek  me.  I  —  I 
have  no  claim  upon  your  kindness  ;  I  am  only  the 
Chevalier  Orvilliers  du  Champsavoys  de  Beaumanoir." 

For  a  moment  the  mob  had  been  stayed  in  amaze- 
ment by  this  small,  rare  creature  stepping  from  the 
doorway,  like  a  porcelain  colored  figure  from  some 
dusky  wood  in  a  painting  by  Boucher.  In  the  in- 
stant's pause  the  Chevalier  Orvilliers  du  Champsavoys 
de  Beaumanoir  took  from  his  pocket  a  timepiece  and 
glanced  at  it,  then  looked  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd 
towards  the  hooded  sun,  which  now,  a  little,  was 
showing  its  face  again. 

"  It  was  due  at  eight,  less  seven  minutes,"  said  he ; 
"clear  sun  again  was  set  for  ten  minutes  past.  It  is 
now  upon  the  stroke  of  the  hour ! " 

He  seemed  in  no  way  concerned  with  the  swaying 
crowd  before  him  —  undoubtedly  they  wanted  naught 
of  him,  and  therefore  he  did  not  take  their  presence 
seriously  ;  but,  of  an  inquiring  mind,  he  was  absorbed 
in  the  eclipse. 

"  He  's  a  French  sorcerer !  he  has  the  evil  eye ! 
Away  with  him  to  the  sea !  "  shouted  the  fanatical 
preacher  from  the  Pompe  des  Brigands. 

"  It 's  a  witch  turned  into  a  man  !  "  cried  a  drunken 


36   THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

woman  from  her  window.  "Give  him  the  wheel  of 
fire  at  the  blacksmith's  forge." 

"  That 's  it !  Gad'rabotin  —  the  wheel  of  fire  '11 
turn  him  back  to  a  hag  again  !  " 

The  little  gentleman  protested,  but  they  seized  him 
and  dragged  him  from  the  steps.  Tossed  like  a  ball, 
so  light  was  he,  he  grasped  the  gold-headed  cane  as 
one  might  cling  to  life,  and  declared  that  he  was  no 
witch,  but  a  poor  French  exile,  arrested  the  night  be- 
fore for  being  abroad  after  nine  o'clock,  against  the 
orders  of  the  Royal  Court. 

Many  of  the  crowd  knew  him  well  enough  by  sight, 
but  they  were  too  delirious  to  act  with  intelligence 
now.  The  dark  cloud  was  lifting  a  little  from  the 
sun,  and  dread  of  the  Judgment  Day  was  declining ; 
but  as  the  pendulum  swung  back  towards  normal  life 
again,  it  carried  with  it  the  one  virulent  and  common 
prejudice  of  the  country,  —  radical  hatred  of  the 
French, — which  often  slumbered  but  never  died. 

The  wife  of  an  oyster-fisher  from  Rozel  Bay,  who 
lived  in  hourly  enmity  with  the  oyster-fishers  of  Car- 
teret,  gashed  his  cheek  with  the  shell  of  an  ormer. 
A  potato-digger  from  Grouville  parish  struck  at  his 
head  with  a  hoe,  for  the  Granvillais  had  crossed  the 
strait  to  the  island  the  year  before,  to  work  in  the 
harvest  fields  for  a  lesser  wage  than  the  Jersiais,  and 
this  little  French  gentleman  must  be  held  responsible 
for  that !  The  weapon  missed  the  Chevalier,  but  laid 
low  a  centenier,  who,  though  a  municipal  officer,  had 
in  the  excitement  lost  his  head  like  his  neighbors. 
This  but  increased  the  rage  against  the  foreigner,  and 
was  another  crime  to  lay  to  his  charge.  A  smuggler 
thereupon  kicked  him  in  the  side. 

At  that  moment  there  came  a  cry  of  indignation 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   37 

from  a  girl  at  an  upper  window  of  the  Place.  The 
Chevalier  evidently  knew  her,  for  even  in  his  hard 
case  he  smiled ;  and  then  he  heard  another  voice  ring 
out  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd,  strong,  angry,  deter- 
mined. 

From  the  Rue  d'Driere  a  tall  athletic  man  was  hur- 
rying. He  had  on  his  shoulders  a  workman's  han 
basket,  from  which  peeped  a  shipbuilder's  tools.  See- 
ing the  Chevalier's  danger,  he  dropped  his  tool-basket 
through  the  open  window  of  a  house  and  forced  his 
way  through  the  crowd,  roughly  knocking  from  under 
them  the  feet  of  two  or  three  ruffians  who  opposed 
him.  He  reproached  the  crowd,  he  berated  them,  he 
handled  them  fiercely.  By  a  dexterous  strength  he 
caught  the  little  gentleman  up  in  his  arms,  and,  driv- 
ing straight  on  to  the  open  door  of  the  smithy,  placed 
him  inside,  then  blocked  the  passage  with  his  own 
body. 

It  was  a  strange  picture :  the  preacher  in  an  ecstasy 
haranguing  the  foolish  rabble,  who  now  realized,  with 
an  unbecoming  joy,  that  the  Last  Day  was  yet  to 
face ;  the  gaping,  empty  prison ;  the  open  windows 
crowded  with  excited  faces  ;  the  church  bell  from  the 
Vier  Marchi  ringing  an  alarm ;  Norman  lethargy 
roused  to  froth  and  fury ;  one  strong  man  holding  two 
hundred  back ! 

Above  them  all,  at  a  hus  in  the  gable  of  a  thatched 
cottage,  stood  the  girl  whom  the  Chevalier  had  recog- 
nized, anxiously  watching  the  affray.  She  was  leaning 
across  the  lower  closed  half  of  the  door,  her  hands  in 
apprehensive  excitement  clasping  her  cheeks.  The 
eyes  were  bewildered,  and,  though  alive  with  pain, 
watched  the  scene  below  with  unwavering  intensity. 

Like  all  mobs  this  one  had  no  reason,  no  sense. 


38   THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

They  were  balked  in  their  malign  intentions,  and  this 
man,  Maitre  Ranulph  Delagarde,  was  the  cause  of  it, 
that  was  all  they  knew.  A  stone  was  thrown  at  Dela- 
garde as  he  stood  in  the  doorway,  but  it  missed  him. 

"  Oh  —  oh  —  oh  !  "  the  girl  exclaimed,  shrinking. 
"  O  shame !  O  you  cowards !  "  she  added,  her  hands 
now  indignantly  beating  on  the  hus.  Three  or  four 
men  rushed  forward  on  Ranulph.  He  hurled  them 
back.  Others  came  on  with  weapons.  The  girl  fled 
for  an  instant,  then  reappeared  with  a  musket,  as  the 
people  were  crowding  in  on  Delagarde  with  threats 
and  execrations. 

"Stop!  stop!"  cried  the  girl  from  above,  as  Ra- 
nulph seized  a  blacksmith's  hammer  to  meet  the 
onset. 

"  Stop,  or  I  '11  fire ! "  she  called'  again,  and  she 
aimed  her  musket  at  the  foremost  assailants. 

Every  face  turned  in  her  direction,  for  her  voice 
had  rung  out  clear  as  music.  For  an  instant  there 
was  silence  —  the  leveled  musket  had  a  deadly  look, 
and  the  girl  seemed  determined.  Her  fingers,  her 
whole  body,  trembled ;  but  there  was  no  mistaking 
the  strong  will,  the  indignant  purpose. 

All  at  once  in  the  pause  another  sound  was  heard. 
It  was  a  quick  tramp,  tramp,  tramp  !  and  suddenly 
under  the  prison  archway  came  running  an  officer  of 
the  King's  navy  with  a  company  of  sailors.  The 
officer,  with  drawn  sword,  his  men  following  with  cut- 
lasses, drove  a  way  through  the  mob,  who  scattered 
before  them  like  sheep. 

Delagarde  threw  aside  his  hammer,  and  saluted  the 
officer.  The  little  Chevalier  made  a  formal  bow,  and 
hastened  to  say  that  he  was  not  at  all  hurt.  With  a 
droll  composure  he  offered  snuff  to  the  officer,  who 


THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG       39 

declined  politely.  Turning  to  the  window  where  the 
girl  stood,  the  newcomer  saluted  with  confident  gal- 
lantry. 

"Why,  it 's  little  Guida  Landresse !  "  he  said  under 
his  breath ;  "  I  'd  know  her  anywhere.  Death  and 
Beauty,  what  a  face  ! "  Then  he  turned  to  Ranulph 
in  recognition. 

"  Ranulph  Delagarde,  eh  ? "  said  he  good-humoredly. 
"  You  Ve  forgotten  me,  I  see.  I  'm  Philip  d'Avranche, 
of  the  Narcissus." 

Ranulph  had  forgotten.  The  slight  lad  Philip  had 
grown  bronzed,  and  stouter  of  frame.  In  the  eleven 
years  since  they  had  been  together  at  the  Battle  of 
Jersey,  events,  travel,  and  responsibility  had  altered 
him  vastly.  Ranulph  had  changed  only  in  growing 
very  tall  and  athletic  and  strong ;  the  look  of  him  was 
still  that  of  the  Norman  lad  of  the  isle,  though  the 
power  and  intelligence  of  his  face  were  unusual. 

The  girl  in  the  cottage  doorway  had  not  forgotten 
at  all.  The  words  that  d'Avranche  had  said  to  her 
years  before,  when  she  was  a  child,  came  to  her  mind : 
"  My  name  is  Philip  ;  call  me  Philip." 

The  recollection  of  that  day  when  she  snatched  off 
the  Bailly's  hat  brought  a  smile  to  her  lips  now,  so 
quickly  were  her  feelings  moved  one  way  or  another. 
Then  she  grew  suddenly  serious,  for  the  memory  of 
the  hour  when  he  saved  her  from  the  scimitar  of  the 
Turk  came  to  her,  and  her  heart  throbbed  hotly.  But 
she  smiled  again,  though  more  gently  and  a  little 
wistfully  now. 

Philip  d'Avranche  looked  up  towards  her  once 
more,  and  returned  her  smile.  Then  he  addressed 
the  awed  crowd.  He  did  not  spare  his  language  ;  he 
unconsciously  used  an  oath  or  two.  He  ordered  them 


40       THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

off  to  their  homes.  When  they  hesitated  (for  they 
were  slow  to  acknowledge  any  authority  save  their 
own  sacred  Royal  Court)  the  sailors  advanced  on 
them  with  drawn  cutlasses,  and  a  moment  later  the 
Place  du  Vier  Prison  was  clear.  Leaving  a  half  dozen 
sailors  on  guard  till  the  town  corps  should  arrive, 
d'Avranche  prepared  to  march,  and  turned  to  Dela- 
garde. 

"  You  have  done  me  a  good  turn,  Monsieur 
d'Avranche,"  said  Ranulph. 

"There  was  a  time  you  called  me  Philip,"  said 
d'Avranche,  smiling.  "  We  were  lads  together." 

"  It 's  different  now,"  answered  Delagarde. 

"Nothing  is  different  at  all,  of  course,"  returned 
d'Avranche  carelessly,  yet  with  the  slightest  touch 
of  condescension,  as  he  held  out  his  hand.  Turning  to 
the  Chevalier,  he  said :  "  Monsieur,  I  congratulate  you 
on  having  such  a  champion,"  with  a  motion  towards 
Ranulph.  "And  you,  monsieur,  on  your  brave  pro- 
tector ; "  he  again  saluted  the  girl  at  the  window 
above. 

"  I  am  the  obliged  and  humble  servant  of  monsieur, 
and  monsieur,"  responded  the  little  gentleman,  turning 
from  one  to  the  other  with  a  courtly  bow,  the  three- 
cornered  hat  under  his  arm,  the  right  foot  forward, 
the  thin  fingers  making  a  graceful  salutation.  "  But 
I  —  I  think  —  I  really  think  I  must  go  back  to  prison. 
I  was  not  formally  set  free.  I  was  out  last  night 
beyond  the  hour  set  by  the  Court.  I  lost  my  way, 
and"  — 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  d'Avranche  interrupted.  "  The 
centeniers  are  too  free  with  their  jailing  here.  I  '11 
be  guarantee  for  you,  monsieur."  He  turned  to  go. 

The  little  man  shook  his  head  dubiously. 


THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG       41 

"  But,  as  a  point  of  honor,  I  really  think  "  — 

D'Avranche  laughed.  "As  a  point  of  honor,  I 
think  you  ought  to  breakfast !  A  la  bonne  heure, 
Monsieur  le  Chevalier  !  " 

He  turned  again  to  the  cottage  window.  The  girl 
was  still  there.  The  darkness  over  the  sun  was  with- 
drawn, and  now  the  clear  light  began  to  spread  itself 
abroad.  It  was  like  a  second  dawn  after  a  painful 
night.  It  tinged  the  face  of  the  girl ;  it  burnished 
the  wonderful  red-brown  hair  falling  loosely  and  lightly 
over  her  forehead ;  it  gave  her  beauty  a  touch  of  luxu- 
riance. D'Avranche  thrilled  at  the  sight  of  her. 

"  It 's  a  beautiful  face  !  "  he  said  to  himself  as  their 
eyes  met  and  he  saluted  once  more. 

Ranulph  had  seen  the  glances  passing  between  the 
two,  and  he  winced.  He  remembered  how,  eleven 
years  ago,  Philip  d'Avranche  had  saved  the  girl  from 
death.  It  galled  him  that  then  and  now  this  young 
gallant  should  step  in  and  take  the  game  out  of  his 
hands ;  he  was  sure  that  himself  alone  could  have 
mastered  this  crowd. 

"  Monsieur !  Monsieur  le  Chevalier !  "  the  girl  called 
down  from  the  window,  "  grandpethe  says  you  must 
breakfast  with  us.  Oh,  but  come  you  must,  or  we 
shall  be  offended  !  "  she  added,  as  Champsavoys  shook 
his  head  in  hesitation  and  glanced  towards  the 
prison. 

"As  a  point  of  honor" — the  little  man  still  per- 
sisted, lightly  touching  his  breast  with  the  Louis 
Quinze  cane,  and  taking  a  step  towards  the  sombre 
prison  archway.  But  Ranulph  interfered,  drew  him 
gently  inside  the  cottage,  and,  standing  in  the  door- 
way, said  to  some  one  within,  — 

"  May  I  come  in  also,  Sieur  de  Mauprat  ? " 


42   THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

Above  the  pleasant  welcome  of  a  quavering  voice 
came  another,  soft  and  clear,  in  pure  French :  — 

"  Thou  art  always  welcome,  without  asking,  as  thou 
knowest,  Ro." 

"Then  I'll  go  and  fetch  my  tool-basket  first," 
Ranulph  said  cheerily,  his  heart  beating  more  quickly, 
and,  turning,  he  walked  across  the  Place. 


CHAPTER    VI 

THE  cottage  in  which  Guida  lived  at  the  Place  du 
Vier  Prison  was  in  jocund  contrast  to  the  dun- 
geon from  which  the  Chevalier  Orvilliers  du  Champ- 
savoys  de  Beaumanoir  had  complacently  issued.  Even 
in  the  hot  summer  the  prison  walls  dripped  moisture, 
for  the  mortar  had  been  made  of  wet  sea-sand,  which 
never  dried,  and  beneath  the  gloomy  tenement  of 
crime  a  dark  stream  flowed  to  the  sea.  But  the  walls 
of  the  cottage  were  dry,  for,  many  years  before,  Guida's 
mother  had  herself  seen  it  built  from  cellar-rock  to 
the  linked  initials  over  the  doorway,  stone  by  stone, 
and  every  corner  of  it  was  as  free  from  damp  as  the 
mielles  stretching  in  sandy  desolation  behind  to  the 
Mont  es  Pendus,  where  the  law  had  its  way  with 
the  necks  of  criminals. 

In  early  childhood  Madame  Landresse  had  come 
with  her  father  into  exile  from  the  sunniest  valley  in 
the  hills  of  Chambery,  where  flowers  and  trees  and 
sunshine  had  been  her  life.  Here,  in  the  midst  of 
blank  and  grim  stone  houses,  her  heart  traveled  back 
to  the  chateau  where  she  lived  before  the  storm 
of  persecution  drove  her  forth  ;  and  she  spent  her 
heart  and  her  days  in  making  this  cottage,  upon  the 
western  border  of  St.  Heliers,  a  delight  to  the  quiet 
eye. 

The  people  of  the  Island  had  been  good  to  her  and 
her  dead  husband  during  the  two  short  years  of  their 


44   THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

married  life,  and  had  caused  her  to  love  the  land  which 
necessity  made  her  home.  Her  child  was  brought  up 
after  the  fashion  of  the  better  class  of  Jersey  children, 
wore  what  they  wore,  ate  what  they  ate,  lived  as  they 
lived.  She  spoke  the  country  patois  in  the  daily  life, 
teaching  it  to  Guida  at  the  same  time  that  she  taught 
her  pure  French  and  good  English,  which  she  herself 
had  learned  as  a  child,  and  cultivated  later  here.  She 
had  done  all  in  her  power  to  make  Guida  Jersiaise  in 
instinct  and  habit,  and  to  beget  in  her  a  contented 
disposition.  There  could  be  no  future  for  her  daugh- 
ter outside  this  little  green  oasis  of  exile,  she  thought. 
Not  that  she  lacked  ambition,  but  in  the  circumstances 
she  felt  that  ambition  could  yield  but  one  harvest  to 
her  child,  which  was  marriage.  She  herself  had  mar- 
ried a  poor  man,  a  master  builder  of  ships,  like  Maitre 
Ranulph  Delagarde,  but  she  had  been  very  happy  while 
he  lived.  Her  husband  had  come  of  an  ancient  Jersey 
family,  who  were  in  Normandy  before  the  Conqueror 
was  born ;  a  man  of  genius  almost  in  his  craft,  but 
scarcely  a  gentleman  according  to  the  standard  of  her 
father,  the  distinguished  exile  and  now  retired  watch- 
maker. If  Guida  should  chance  to  be  as  fortunate  as 
herself,  she  could  ask  no  more. 

She  had  watched  the  child  anxiously,  for  the  impulses 
of  Guida's  temperament  now  and  then  broke  forth  in 
indignation  as  wild  as  her  tears,  and  in  tears  as  wild  as 
her  laughter.  As  the  girl  grew  in  health  and  stature, 
she  tried,  tenderly,  strenuously,  to  discipline  the  sen- 
sitive nature,  bursting  her  heart  with  grief  at  times 
because  she  knew  that  these  high  feelings  and  delicate 
powers  came  through  a  long  line  of  ancestral  tenden- 
cies, as  indestructible  as  perilous  and  joyous. 

Four  things   were  always   apparent   in   the  girl's 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG       45 

character :  sympathy  with  suffering,  kindness  without 
partiality,  a  love  of  nature,  and  an  intense  candor. 

Not  a  stray  cat  wandering  into  the  Place  du  Vier 
Prison  but  found  an  asylum  in  the  garden  behind  the 
cottage.  Not  a  dog  hungry  for  a  bone,  stopping  at 
Guida's  door,  but  was  sure  of  one  from  a  hiding-place 
in  the  hawthorn  hedge  of  the  garden.  Every  morning 
you  might  have  seen  the  birds  in  fluttering,  chirping 
groups  upon  the  may-tree  or  the  lilac-bushes,  waiting 
for  the  tiny  snowstorm  of  bread  to  fall  from  her  hand. 
Was  he  good  or  bad,  ragged  or  neat,  honest  or  a  thief, 
not  a  deserting  sailor  or  a  homeless  lad,  halting  at  the 
cottage,  but  was  fed  from  the  girl's  private  larder 
behind  the  straw  beehives,  among  the  sweet  lavender 
and  the  gooseberry-bushes.  No  matter  how  rough  the 
vagrant,  the  sincerity  and  pure  impulse  of  the  child 
seemed  to  throw  round  him  a  sunshine  of  decency 
and  respect. 

The  garden  behind  the  house  was  the  girl's  Eden. 
She  had  planted  upon  the  hawthorn  hedge  the  crimson 
monthly  rose,  the  fuchsia,  and  the  jonquil,  until  at  last 
the  cottage  was  hemmed  in  by  a  wall  of  flowers  ;  and 
here  she  was  ever  as  busy  as  the  bees  which  hung 
humming  on  the  sweet  scabious. 

In  this  corner  was  a  little  hut  for  rabbits ;  in  that, 
there  was  a  hole  dug  in  the  bank  for  a  hedgehog ; 
in  the  middle  a  little  flower-grown  inclosure  for  cats 
in  various  stages  of  health  or  convalescence,  and  a 
small  pond  for  frogs  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  all  wandered 
her  faithful  dog,  Biribi  by  name,  as  master  of  the 
ceremonies. 

Madame  Landresse's  one  ambition  had  been  to  live 
long  enough  to  see  her  child's  character  formed.  She 
knew  that  her  own  years  were  numbered,  for  month 


46       THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

by  month  she  felt  her  strength  going.  And  yet  a 
beautiful  tenacity  kept  her  where  she  would  be  until 
Guida  was  fifteen  years  of  age.  Her  great  desire  had 
been  to  live  till  the  girl  was  eighteen.  Then  —  well, 
then  might  she  not  perhaps  leave  her  to  the  care  of  a 
husband  ?  At  best,  M.  de  Mauprat  could  not  live  long. 
He  had  at  last  been  forced  to  give  up  the  little  watch- 
maker's shop  in  the  Vier  Marchi,  where  for  so  many 
years,  in  simple  independence,  he  had  wrought,  always 
putting  by,  from  work  done  after  hours,  Jersey  bank- 
notes and  gold,  to  give  Guida  a  dot,  if  not  worthy  of 
her,  at  least  a  guarantee  against  reproach  when  some 
great  man  should  come  seeking  her  in  marriage.  But 
at  last  his  hands  trembled  among  the  tiny  wheels,  and 
his  eyes  failed.  He  had  his  dark  hour  by  himself, 
then  he  sold  the  shop  to  a  native,  who  thenceforward 
sat  in  the  ancient  exile's  place  ;  and  the  two  brown 
eyes  of  the  stooped,  brown  old  man  looked  out  no 
more  from  the  window  in  the  Vier  Marchi :  and  then 
they  all  made  their  new  home  in  the  Place  du  Vier 
Prison. 

Until  she  was  fifteen  Guida's  life  was  unclouded. 
Once  or  twice  her  mother  tried  to  tell  her  of  a  place 
that  must  soon  be  empty,  but  her  heart  failed  her. 
So  at  last  the  end  came  like  a  sudden  wind  out  of 
the  north  ;  and  it  was  left  to  Guida  Landresse  de 
Landresse  to  fight  the  fight  and  finish  the  journey 
of  womanhood  alone. 

This  time  was  the  turning-point  in  Guida's  life. 
What  her  mother  had  been  to  the  Sieur  de  Mauprat, 
she  soon  became.  They  had  enough  to  live  on  sim- 
ply. Every  week  her  grandfather  gave  her  a  fixed 
sum  for  the  household.  Upon  this  she  managed,  that 
the  tiny  income  left  by  her  mother  might  not  be 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   47 

touched.  She  shrank  from  using  it  yet,  and  besides, 
dark  times  might  come  when  it  would  be  needed. 
Death  had  once  surprised  her,  but  it  should  bring  no 
more  amazement.  She  knew  that  M.  de  Mauprat's 
days  were  numbered,  and  when  he  was  gone  she 
would  be  left  without  one  near  relative  in  the  world. 
She  realized  how  unprotected  her  position  would  be 
when  death  came  knocking  at  the  door  again.  What 
she  would  do  she  knew  not.  She  thought  long  and 
hard.  Fifty  things  occurred  to  her,  and  fifty  were  set 
aside.  Her  mother's  immediate  relatives  in  France 
were  scattered  or  dead.  There  was  no  longer  any 
interest  at  Chambery  in  the  watchmaking  exile,  who 
had  dropped  like  a  cherry-stone  from  the  beak  of 
the  black  bird  of  persecution  upon  one  of  the  lies  de 
la  Manche. 

There  remained  the  alternative  more  than  once 
hinted  by  the  Sieur  de  Mauprat  as  the  months  grew 
into  years  after  the  mother  died,  —  marriage  ;  a  hus- 
band, a  notable  and  wealthy  husband.  That  was  the 
magic  destiny  de  Mauprat  figured  for  her.  It  did  not 
elate  her,  it  did  not  disturb  her ;  she  scarcely  realized 
it.  She  loved  animals,  and  she  saw  no  reason  to  de- 
spise a  stalwart  youth.  It  had  been  her  fortune  to 
know  two  or  three  in  the  casual,  unconventional  man- 
ner of  villages,  and  there  were  few  in  the  land,  great 
or  humble,  who  did  not  turn  twice  to  look  at  her  as 
she  passed  through  the  Vier  Marchi,  so  noble  was  her 
carriage,  so  graceful  and  buoyant  her  walk,  so  lacking 
in  self-consciousness  her  beauty.  More  than  one 
young  gentleman  of  family  had  been  known  to  ride 
through  the  Place  du  Vier  Prison,  hoping  to  get  sight 
of  her,  and  to  offer  the  view  of  a  suggestively  empty 
pillion  behind  him. 


48   THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

She  had,  however,  never  listened  to  flatterers,  and 
only  one  youth  of  Jersey  had  footing  in  the  cottage. 
This  was  Ranulph  Delagarde,  who  had  gone  in  and 
out  at  his  will,  but  that  was  casually  and  not  too 
often,  and  he  was  discreet  and  spoke  no  word  of  love. 
Sometimes  she  talked  to  him  of  things  concerning 
the  daily  life  with  which  she  did  not  care  to  trouble 
Sieur  de  Mauprat.  In  ways  quite  unknown  to  her 
he  had  made  her  life  easier  for  her.  She  knew  that 
her  mother  had  thought  of  Ranulph  for  her  husband, 
although  she  blushed  whenever  —  but  it  was  not  often 
— the  idea  came  to  her.  She  remembered  how  her 
mother  had  said  that  Ranulph  would  be  a  great  man 
in  the  Island  some  day ;  that  he  had  a  mind  above  all 
the  youths  in  St.  Heliers  ;  that  she  would  rather  see 
Ranulph  a  master  shipbuilder  than  a  babbling  farivain 
in  the  Rue  des  Tres  Pigeons,  a  smirking  leech,  or 
a  penniless  seigneur  with  neither  trade  nor  talent. 
Guida  was  attracted  to  Ranulph  through  his  occupa- 
tion, for  she  loved  strength,  she  loved  all  clean  and 
wholesome  trades ;  that  of  the  mason,  of  the  carpen- 
ter, of  the  blacksmith,  and  most  of  the  shipbuilder. 
Her  father,  whom  she  did  not  remember,  had  been  a 
shipbuilder,  and  she  knew  that  he  had  been  a  notable 
man ;  every  one  had  told  her  that. 

"  She  has  met  her  destiny,"  say  the  village  gossips, 
when  some  man  in  the  dusty  procession  of  life  sees  a 
woman's  face  in  the  pleasant  shadow  of  a  home,  and 
drops  out  of  the  ranks  to  enter  at  her  doorway. 

Was  Ranulph  to  be  Guida's  destiny  ? 

Handsome  and  stalwart  though  he  looked  as  he 
entered  the  cottage  in  the  Place  du  Vier  Prison,  on 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   49 

that  September  morning  after  the  rescue  of  the  Che- 
valier, his  tool-basket  on  his  shoulder,  and  his  brown 
face  enlivened  by  one  simple  sentiment,  she  was  far 
from  sure  that  he  was,  —  far  from  sure. 


CHAPTER    VII 

THE  little  hallway  into  which  Ranulph  stepped 
from  the  street  led  through  to  the  kitchen. 
Guida  stood  holding  back  the  door  for  him  to  enter 
this  real  living-room  of  the  house,  which  opened 
directly  upon  the  garden  behind.  It  was  so  cheerful 
and  secluded,  looking  out  from  the  garden  over  the 
wide  space  beyond  to  the  changeful  sea,  that  since 
Madame  Landresse's  death  the  Sieur  de  Mauprat  had 
made  it  reception-room,  dining-room,  and  kitchen  all 
in  one.  He  would  willingly  have  slept  there  too,  but 
noblesse  oblige  and  the  thought  of  what  the  Chevalier 
Orvilliers  du  Champsavoys  de  Beaumanoir  might 
think  prevented  him.  Moreover,  there  was  something 
patriarchal  in  a  kitchen  as  a  reception-room ;  and  both 
he  and  the  Chevalier  loved  to  watch  Guida  busy  with 
her  household  duties  :  at  one  moment  her  arms  in  the 
dough  of  the  kneading-trough  ;  at  another  picking 
cherries  for  a  jelly,  or  casting  up  her  weekly  accounts 
with  a  little  smiling  and  a  little  sighing. 

If,  by  chance,  it  had  been  proposed  by  the  Sieur  to 
adjourn  to  the  small  sitting-room  which  looked  out 
upon  the  Place  du  Vier  Prison,  a  gloom  would  in- 
stantly have  settled  upon  them  both  ;  though  in  this 
little  front  room  there  was  an  ancient  armchair,  over 
which  hung  the  sword  that  the  Comte  Guilbert  Mau- 
prat de  Chambery  had  used  at  Fontenoy  against  the 
English. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   51 

So  it  was  that  this  spacious  kitchen,  with  its  huge 
chimney,  and  paved  with  square  flagstones  and  sanded, 
became  like  one  of  those  ancient  corners  of  camara- 
derie in  some  exclusive  inn  where  gentlemen  of  quality 
were  wont  to  meet.  At  the  left  of  the  chimney  was 
the  great  settle,  or  veille,  covered  with  baize,  "  flour- 
ished" with  satinettes,  and  spread  with  ferns  and 
rushes,  and  above  it  a  little  shelf  of  old  china  worth 
the  ransom  of  a  prince  at  least.  Opposite  the  door- 
way were  two  great  armchairs,  one  for  the  Sieur  and 
the  other  for  the  Chevalier,  who  made  his  home  in  the 
house  of  one  Elie  Mattingley,  a  fisherman  by  trade 
and  by  practice  a  piratical  smuggler,  with  a  daughter 
Carterette  whom  he  loved  passing  well. 

These,  with  a  few  constant  visitors,  formed  a  coterie : 
the  huge,  grizzly-bearded  boatman,  Jean  Touzel,  who 
wore  spectacles,  befriended  smugglers,  was  approved 
of  all  men,  and  secretly  worshiped  by  his  wife ;  Amice 
Ingouville,  the  fat  avocat  with  a  stomach  of  gigantic 
proportions,  the  biggest  heart  and  the  tiniest  brain  in 
the  world  ;  Maitre  Ranulph  Delagarde,  and  lastly  M. 
Yves  Savary  dit  Detricand,  that  officer  of  Rullecour's 
who,  being  released  from  the  prison  hospital,  when  the 
hour  came  for  him  to  leave  the  country  was  too  drunk 
to  find  the  shore.  By  some  whim  of  negligence  the 
Royal  Court  was  afterwards  too  lethargic  to  remove 
him,  and  he  stayed  on,  vainly  making  efforts  to  leave 
between  one  carousal  and  another.  In  sober  hours, 
none  too  frequent,  he  was  rather  sorrowfully  welcomed 
by  the  Sieur  and  the  Chevalier. 

When  Ranulph  entered  the  kitchen  his  greeting  to 
the  Sieur  and  the  Chevalier  was  in  French,  but  to 
Guida  he  said,  rather  stupidly  in  the  patois,  for  late 


52   THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

events  had  embarrassed  him,  "Ah  bah!  es-tu  genti- 
ment  ? " 

"  Gentiment,"  she  answered,  with  a  queer  little 
smile.  "  You  '11  have  breakfast  ?  "  she  said  in  Eng- 
lish. 

"  Et  ben  ! "  Ranulph  repeated,  still  embarrassed ; 
"a  bouchi,  that 's  all." 

He  laid  aside  his  tool-basket,  shook  hands  with  the 
Sieur,  and  seated  himself  at  the  table.  Looking  at  du 
Champsavoys,  he  said  :  — 

"I've  just  met  the  Constable.  He  regrets  the 
riot,  Chevalier,  and  says  the  Royal  Court  extends  its 
mercy  to  you." 

"  I  prefer  to  accept  no  favors,"  answered  the  Cheva- 
lier. "  As  a  point  of  honor,  I  had  thought  that,  after 
breakfast,  I  should  return  to  prison,  and  " 

"The  Connetable  said  it  was  cheaper  to  let  the 
Chevalier  go  free  than  to  feed  him  in  the  Vier  Pri- 
son," dryly  exclaimed  Ranulph,  helping  himself  to 
roasted  conger-eel  and  eying  hungrily  the  freshly- 
made  black  butter  Guida  was  taking  from  a  wooden 
trencher.  "The  Royal  Court  is  stingy,"  he  added, 
" '  nearer  than  Jean  Noe,  who  got  married  in  his  red 
queminzolle,'  as  we  say  on  Jersey  "  — 

But  he  got  no  further  at  the  moment,  for  shots  rang 
out  suddenly  before  the  house.  They  all  started  to 
their  feet,  and  Ranulph,  running  to  the  front  door, 
threw  it  open.  As  he  did  so  a  young  man,  with  blood 
flowing  from  a  cut  on  the  temple,  stepped  inside. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

IT  was  M.  Savary  dit  Detricand. 
"  Whew  —  what  fools  there  are  in  the  world  ! 
Pish,  you  silly  apes ! "  the  young  man  said,  glancing 
through  the  open  doorway  again  to  where  the  Con- 
netable's  men  were  dragging  two  vile-looking  ruffians 
into  the  Vier  Prison. 

"  What 's  happened,  monsieur  ?  "  said  Ranulph,  clos- 
ing the  door  and  bolting  it. 

"  What  was  it,  monsieur  ?  "  asked  Guida  anxiously, 
for  painful  events  had  crowded  too  fast  that  morning. 

Detricand  was  stanching  the  blood  at  his  temple 
with  the  scarf  from  his  neck. 

"Get  him  some  cordial,  Guida — he 's  wounded !" 
said  de  Mauprat. 

Detricand  waved  a  hand  almost  impatiently,  and 
dropped  upon  the  veille,  swinging  a  leg  back  and  for- 
wards. 

"  It 's  nothing,  I  protest,  —  nothing  whatever,  and 
I  '11  have  no  cordial,  not  a  drop.  A  drink  of  water,  — 
a  mouthful  of  that,  if  I  must  drink." 

Guida  caught  up  a  hanap  of  water  from  the  dresser, 
and  passed  it  to  him.  Her  fingers  trembled  a  little. 
His  were  steady  enough  as  he  took  the  hanap  and  drank 
off  the  water  at  a  gulp.  Again  she  filled  it  and  again 
he  drank.  The  blood  was  running  in  a  tiny  little 
stream  down  his  cheek.  She  caught  her  handkerchief 
from  her  girdle  impulsively,  and  gently  wiped  it  away. 


54   THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

"  Let  me  bandage  the  wound,"  she  said  eagerly. 
Her  eyes  were  alight  with  compassion,  certainly  not  be- 
cause it  was  the  dissipated  French  invader,  M.  Savary 
dit  Detricand,  —  no  one  knew  that  he  was  the  young 
Comte  de  Tournay  of  the  House  of  Vauf  ontaine,  — 
but  because  he  was  a  wounded  fellow-creature.  She 
would  have  done  the  same  for  the  poor  beganne,  Dormy 
Jamais,  who  still  prowled  the  purlieus  of  St.  Heliers. 

It  was  clear,  however,  that  Detricand  felt  differently. 
The  moment  she  touched  him  he  became  suddenly 
still.  He  permitted  her  to  wash  the  blood  from  his 
temple  and  forehead,  to  stanch  it  first  with  brandied 
jeru-leaves,  then  with  cobwebs,  and  afterwards  to  bind 
it  with  her  own  kerchief. 

Detricand  thrilled  at  the  touch  of  the  warm,  tremu- 
lous fingers.  He  had  never  been  quite  so  near  her 
before.  His  face  was  not  far  from  hers.  Now  her 
breath  fanned  him.  As  he  bent  his  head  for  the 
bandaging,  he  could  see  the  soft  pulsing  of  her  bosom, 
and  hear  the  beating  of  her  heart.  Her  neck  was  so 
full  and  round  and  soft,  and  her  voice  —  surely  he  had 
never  heard  a  voice  so  sweet  and  strong,  a  tone  so 
well  poised,  so  resonantly  pleasant. 

When  she  had  finished,  he  had  an  impulse  to  catch 
the  hand  as  it  dropped  away  from  his  forehead,  and 
kiss  it ;  not  as  he  had  kissed  many  a  hand,  hotly  one 
hour  and  coldly  the  next,  but  with  an  unpurchasable 
kind  of  gratitude  characteristic  of  this  especial  sort  of 
sinner.  He  was  just  young  enough,  and  there  was 
still  enough  natural  health  in  him,  to  know  the  healing 
touch  of  a  perfect  decency,  a  pure  truth  of  spirit.  Yet 
he  had  been  drunk  the  night  before,  drunk  with  three 
non-commissioned  officers  —  and  he  a  gentleman,  in 
spite  of  all,  as  could  be  plainly  seen. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG       55 

He  turned  his  head  away  from  the  girl  quickly,  and 
looked  straight  into  the  eyes  of  her  grandfather. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  how  it  was,  Sieur  de  Mauprat,"  said 
he.  "  I  was  crossing  the  Place  du  Vier  Prison  when 
a  rascal  threw  a  cleaver  at  me  from  a  window.  If  it 
had  struck  me  on  the  head  —  well,  the.  Royal  Court 
would  have  buried  me,  and  without  a  slab  to  my  grave 
like  Rullecour.  I  burst  open  the  door  of  the  house, 
ran  up  the  stairs,  gripped  the  ruffian,  and  threw  him 
out  of  the  window  into  the  street.  As  I  did  so  a  door 
opened  behind,  and  another  cut-throat  came  at  me 
with  a  pistol.  He  fired,  —  fired  wide.  I  ran  in  on 
him,  and  before  he  had  time  to  think  he  was  through 
the  window,  too.  Then  the  other  brute  below  fired 
up  at  me.  The  bullet  gashed  my  temple,  as  you  see. 
After  that,  it  was  an  affair  of  the  Connetable  and  his 
men.  I  had  had  enough  fighting  before  breakfast. 
I  saw  your  open  door — and  here  I  am  —  monsieur, 
monsieur,  monsieur,  mademoiselle  !  "  He  bowed  to 
each  of  them,  and  glanced  towards  the  table  hungrily. 

Ranulph  placed  a  seat  for  him.  He  viewed  the 
conger-eel  and  limpets  with  an  avid  eye,  but  waited 
for  the  Chevalier  and  de  Mauprat  to  sit.  He  had  no 
sooner  taken  a  mouthful,  however,  and  thrown  a  piece 
of  bread  to  Biribi  the  dog,  than,  starting  again  to  his 
feet,  he  said  :  — 

"  Your  pardon,  Monsieur  le  Chevalier,  that  brute  in 
the  Place  has  knocked  all  sense  from  my  head  !  I  've 
a  letter  for  you,  brought  from  Rouen  by  one  of  the 
refugees  who  came  yesterday."  He  drew  from  his 
breast  a  packet  and  handed  it  over.  "  I  went  out  to 
their  ship  last  night." 

The  Chevalier  looked  with  surprise  and  satisfac- 
tion at  the  seal  on  the  letter,  and,  breaking  it,  spread 


56       THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

open  the  paper,  fumbled  for  the  eyeglass  which  he 
always  carried  in  his  waistcoat,  and  began  reading 
diligently. 

Meanwhile  Ranulph  turned  to  Guida.  "  To-morrow 
Jean  Touzel  and  his  wife  and  I  go  to  the  Ecrehos 
Rocks  in  Jean's  boat,"  said  he.  "  A  vessel  was  driven 
ashore  there  three  days  ago,  and  my  carpenters  are 
at  work  on  her.  If  you  can  go  and  the  wind  holds 
fair,  you  shall  be  brought  back  safe  by  sundown,  — 
Jean  says  so,  too." 

Of  all  boatmen  and  fishermen  on  the  coast,  Jean 
Touzel  was  most  to  be  trusted.  No  man  had  saved 
so  many  shipwrecked  folk,  none  risked  his  life  so 
often ;  and  he  had  never  had  a  serious  accident.  To 
go  to  sea  with  Jean  Touzel,  folk  said,  was  safer  than 
living  on  land.  Guida  loved  the  sea ;  and  she  could 
sail  a  boat,  and  knew  the  tides  and  currents  of  the 
south  coast  as  well  as  most  fishermen. 

M.  de  Mauprat  met  her  inquiring  glance,  and  nodded 
assent.  She  then  said  gayly  to  Ranulph,  "  I  shall 
sail  her,  —  shall  I  not  ?  " 

"  Every  foot  of  the  way,"  he  answered. 

She  laughed  and  clapped  her  hands.  Suddenly  the 
little  Chevalier  broke  in.  "  By  the  head  of  John  the 
Baptist !  "  said  he. 

Detricand  put  down  his  knife  and  fork  in  amaze- 
ment, and  Guida  colored,  for  the  words  sounded  almost 
profane  upon  the  Chevalier's  lips. 

Du  Champsavoys  held  up  his  eyeglass,  and,  turn- 
ing from  one  to  the  other,  looked  at  each  of  them 
imperatively,  yet  abstractedly  too.  Then,  pursing  up 
his  lower  lip,  and  with  a  growing  amazement  which 
carried  him  to  distant  heights  of  reckless  language, 
he  said  again  :  — 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   57 

"  By  the  head  of  John  the  Baptist  on  a  charger  !  " 

He  looked  at  Detricand  with  a  fierceness  which  was 
merely  the  tension  of  his  thought.  If  he  had  looked 
at  a  wall  it  would  have  been  the  same.  But  Detri- 
cand, who  had  an  almost  whimsical  sense  of  humor, 
felt  his  neck  in  affected  concern  as  though  to  be 
quite  sure  of  it. 

"Chevalier,"  said  he,  "you  shock  us, — you  shock 
us,  dear  Chevalier  !  " 

"  The  most  painful  things,  and  the  most  wonderful, 
too,"  said  the  Chevalier,  tapping  the  letter  with  his 
eyeglass ;  "  the  most  terrible  and  yet  the  most  ro- 
mantic things  are  here.  A  drop  of  cider,  if  you  please, 
mademoiselle,  before  I  begin  to  read  it  to  you,  if  I 
may  —  if  I  may  —  eh  ? " 

They  all  nodded  eagerly.  Guida  handed  him  a 
mogue  of  cider.  The  little  gray  thrush  of  a  man 
sipped  it,  and  in  a  voice  no  bigger  than  a  bird's  be- 
gan:— 

"  '  From  Lucillien  du  Champsavoys,  Comte  de  Cha- 
nier,  by  the  hand  of  a  faithful  friend,  who  goeth  hence 
from  among  divers  dangers,  unto  my  cousin,  the  Cheva- 
lier du  Champsavoys  de  Beaumanoir,  late  Gentleman 
of  the  Bedchamber  to  the  best  of  monarchs,  Louis 
XV.,  this  writing  :  — 

"'  MY  DEAR  AND  HONORED  COUSIN '"  (the  Cheva- 
lier  paused,  frowned  a  trifle,  and  tapped  his  lips  with 
his  finger  in  a  little  lyrical  emotion),  " '  My  dear  and 
honored  cousin,  all  is  lost.  The  France  we  loved  is 
no  more !  The  twentieth  of  June  saw  the  last  ves- 
tige of  Louis'  power  pass  forever.  That  day  ten 
thousand  of  the  sans-culottes  forced  their  way  into  the 
palace  to  kill  him.  A  faithful  few  surrounded  him. 


58   THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

In  the  mad  turmoil,  we  were  fearful,  he  was  serene. 
"  Feel,"  said  Louis,  placing  his  hand  on  his  bosom, 
"  feel  whether  this  is  the  beating  of  a  heart  shaken 
by  fear."  Ah,  my  friend,  your  heart  would  have 
clamped  in  misery  to  hear  the  Queen  cry,  "  What 
have  I  to  fear  ?  Death  ?  it  is  as  well  to-day  as  to- 
morrow ;  they  can  do  no  more  !  "  Their  lives  were 
saved,  the  day  passed,  but  worse  came  after. 

" '  The  tenth  of  August  came.  With  it,  too,  the 
end  —  the  dark  and  bloody  end  —  of  the  Swiss  Guard. 
The  Jacobins  had  their  way  at  last.  The  Swiss  Guard 
died  in  the  court  of  the  Carrousel  as  they  marched  to 
the  Assembly  to  save  the  King.  Thus  the  last  circle 
of  defense  round  the  throne  was  broken.  The  palace 
was  given  over  to  flame  and  the  sword.  Of  twenty 
nobles  of  the  court  I  alone  escaped.  France  is  be- 
come a  slaughter-house.  The  people  cried  out  for 
more  liberty,  and  their  liberators  gave  them  the  free- 
dom of  death.  A  fortnight  ago,  Danton,  the  incom- 
parable fiend,  let  loose  his  assassins  upon  the  priests 
of  God.  Now  Paris  is  made  a  theatre  where  the 
people  whom  Louis  and  his  nobles  would  have  died  to 
save  have  turned  every  street  into  a  stable  of  carnage, 
every  prison  and  hospital  into  a  vast  charnel-house. 
One  last  revolting  thing  alone  remains  to  be  done,  — 
the  murder  of  the  King,  —  then  this  France  that  we 
have  loved  will  have  no  name  and  no  place  in  our 
generation.  She  will  rise  again,  but  we  shall  not  see 
her,  for  our  eyes  have  been  blinded  with  blood,  forever 
darkened  by  disaster.  Like  a  mistress  upon  whom 
we  have  lavished  the  days  of  our  youth  and  the 
strength  of  our  days,  she  has  deceived  us ;  she  has 
stricken  us  while  we  slept.  Behold  a  Caliban  now  for 
her  paramour ! 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG       59 

"  '  Weep  with  me,  for  France  despoils  me.  One 
by  one  my  friends  have  fallen  beneath  the  axe.  Of 
my  four  sons  but  one  remains.  Henri  was  stabbed 
by  Danton's  ruffians  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville ;  Gaston 
fought  and  died  with  the  Swiss  Guard,  whose  hacked 
and  severed  limbs  were  broiled  and  eaten  in  the  streets 
by  these  monsters  who  mutilate  the  land.  Isidore, 
the  youngest,  defied  a  hundred  of  Robespierre's  cow- 
ards on  the  steps  of  the  Assembly,  and  was  torn  to 
pieces  by  the  mob'.  Etienne  alone  is  left.  But  for 
him  and  for  the  honor  of  my  house  I  too  would  find  a 
place  beside  the  King  and  die  with  him.  Etienne  is 
with  de  la  Rochejaquelein  in  Brittany.  I  am  here  at 
Rouen. 

" '  Brittany  and  Normandy  still  stand  for  the  King. 
In  these  two  provinces  begins  the  regeneration  of 
France  :  we  call  it  the  War  of  the  Vendee.  On  that 
Isle  of  Jersey  there  you  should  almost  hear  the  voice 
of  de  la  Rochejaquelein  and  the  marching  cries  of  our 
loyal  legions.  If  there  be  justice  in  God  we  shall 
conquer.  But  there  will  be  joy  no  more  for  such  as 
you  or  me,  nor  hope,  nor  any  peace.  We  live  only 
for  those  who  come  after.  Our  duty  remains  ;  all  else 
is  dead.  You  did  well  to  go,  and  I  do  well  to  stay. 

" '  By  all  these  piteous  relations  you  shall  know  the 
importance  of  the  request  I  now  set  forth. 

"  '  My  cousin  by  marriage  of  the  House  of  Vaufon- 
taine  has  lost  all  his  sons.  With  the  death  of  the 
Prince  of  Vaufontaine,  there  is  in  France  no  direct 
heir  to  the  house,  nor  can  it,  by  the  law,  revert  to  my 
house  or  my  heirs.  Now  of  late  the  Prince  hath 
urged  me  to  write  to  you,  —  for  he  is  here  in  seclusion 
with  me,  —  and  to  unfold  to  you  what  has  hitherto 
been  secret.  Eleven  years  ago  the  only  nephew  of  the 


60       THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

Prince,  after  some  naughty  escapades,  fled  from  the 
Court  with  Rullecour  the  adventurer,  who  invaded 
the  Isle  of  Jersey.  From  that  hour  he  has  been  lost 
to  France.  Some  of  his  companions  in  arms  returned 
after  a  number  of  years.  All  with  one  exception  de- 
clared that  he  was  killed  in  the  battle  at  St.  Heliers. 
One,  however,  maintains  that  he  was  still  living  and 
in  the  prison  hospital  when  his  comrades  were  set 
free. 

"  '  It  is  of  him  I  write  to  you.  He  is  —  as  you  will 
perchance  remember  —  the  Comte  de  Tournay.  He 
was  then  not  more  than  seventeen  years  of  age,  slight 
of  build,  with  brownish  hair,  dark  gray  eyes,  and  had 
over  the  right  shoulder  a  scar  from  a  sword-thrust. 
It  seemeth  little  possible  that,  if  living,  he  should  still 
remain  in  that  Isle  of  Jersey,  but  may  rather  have 
returned  to  obscurity  in  France  or  have  gone  to  Eng- 
land to  be  lost  to  name  and  remembrance,  —  or  even 
indeed  beyond  the  seas. 

" '  That  you  may  perchance  give  me  word  of  him  is 
the  object  of  my  letter,  written  in  no  more  hope  than 
I  live ;  and  you  can  well  guess  how  faint  that  is.  One 
young  nobleman  preserved  to  France  may  yet  be  the 
great  unit  that  will  save  her. 

"  '  Greet  my  poor  countrymen  yonder  in  the  name 
of  one  who  still  waits  at  a  desecrated  altar ;  and  for 
myself  you  must  take  me  as  I  am,  with  the  remem- 
brance of  what  I  was,  even 

"  '  Your  faithful  friend  and  loving  kinsman, 

"'DE  CHANIER.'" 

" '  All  this,  though  in  the  chances  of  war  you  read 
it  not  till  wintertide,  was  told  you  at  Rouen  this  first 
day  of  September,  1792.'" 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   61 

During  the  reading,  broken  by  feeling  and  reflective 
pauses  on  the  Chevalier's  part,  the  listeners  showed 
emotion  after  the  nature  of  each.  The  Sieur  de  Mau- 
prat's  fingers  clasped  and  unclasped  on  the  top  of  his 
cane,  little  explosions  of  breath  came  from  his  com- 
pressed lips,  his  eyebrows  beetled  over  till  the  eyes 
themselves  seemed  like  two  glints  of  flame.  Dela- 
garde  dropped  a  fist  heavily  upon  the  table,  and  held 
it  there  clinched,  while  his  heel  beat  a  tattoo  of  ex- 
citement upon  the  floor.  Guida's  breath  came  quick 
and  fast ;  as  Ranulph  said  afterwards,  she  was  "  blanc 
comme  un  linge"  She  shuddered  painfully  when  the 
slaughter  and  burning  of  the  Swiss  Guards  was  read. 
Her  brain  was  so  swimming  with  the  horrors  of  an- 
archy that  the  latter  part  of  the  letter  dealing  with 
the  vanished  Count  of  Tournay  passed  by  almost  un- 
heeded. 

But  this  particular  matter  greatly  interested  Ra- 
nulph and  de  Mauprat.  They  leaned  forward  eagerly, 
seizing  every  word,  and  both  instinctively  turned  to- 
wards Detricand  when  the  description  of  de  Tournay 
was  read. 

As  for  Detricand  himself,  he  listened  to  the  first 
part  of  the  letter  like  a  man  suddenly  roused  out  of  a 
dream.  For  the  first  time  since  the  Revolution  had 
begun,  the  horror  of  it  and  the  meaning  of  it  were 
brought  home  to  him.  He  had  been  so  long  expatri- 
ated, had  loitered  so  long  in  the  primrose  path  of 
daily  sleep  and  nightly  revel,  had  fallen  so  far,  that 
he  little  realized  how  the  fiery  wheels  of  Death  were 
spinning  in  France,  or  how  black  was  the  torment 
of  her  people.  His  face  turned  scarlet  as  the  thing 
came  home  to  him  now.  He  dropped  his  head  in  his 
hand  as  if  to  listen  more  attentively,  but  it  was  in 


62   THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

truth  to  hide  his  emotion.  When  the  names  of  Vau- 
fontaine  and  de  Tournay  were  mentioned,  he  gave  a 
little  start,  then  suddenly  ruled  himself  to  a  strange 
stillness.  His  face  seemed  presently  to  clear;  he 
even  smiled  a  little.  Conscious  that  de  Mauprat  and 
Delagarde  were  watching  him,  he  appeared  to  listen 
with  a  keen  but  impersonal  interest,  not  without  its 
effect  upon  his  scrutinizers.  He  nodded  his  head  as 
though  he  understood  the  situation.  He  acted  very 
well ;  he  bewildered  the  onlookers.  They  might  think 
he  tallied  with  the  description  of  the  Comte  de  Tour- 
nay,  yet  he  gave  the  impression  that  the  matter  was 
not  vital  to  himself.  But  when  the  little  Chevalier 
stopped  and  turned  his  eyeglass  upon  him  with  sudden 
startled  inquiry,  he  found  it  harder  to  keep  composure. 

"Singular!  singular!"  said  the  old  man,  and 
returned  to  the  reading  of  the  letter. 

When  he  ended  there  was  absolute  silence  for  a 
moment.  Then  the  Chevalier  lifted  his  eyeglass  again 
and  looked  at  Detricand  intently. 

"Pardon  me,  monsieur,"  he  said,  "but  you  were 
with  Rullecour  —  as  I  was  saying." 

Detricand  nodded  with  a  droll  sort  of  helplessness, 
and  answered,  "In  Jersey  I  never  have  chance  to 
forget  it,  Chevalier." 

Du  Champsavoys,  with  a  nai've  and  obvious  attempt 
at  playing  counsel,  fixed  him  again  with  the  glass, 
pursed  his  lips,  and  with  the  importance  of  a  greffier 
at  the  ancient  Cour  d'Heritage,  came  one  step  nearer 
to  his  goal. 

"  Have  you  knowledge  of  the  Comte  de  Tournay, 
monsieur?" 

"I  knew  him  —  as  you  were  saying,  Chevalier," 
answered  Detricand  lightly. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG       63 

Then  the  Chevalier  struck  home.  He  dropped  his 
fingers  upon  the  table,  stood  up,  and,  looking  straight 
into  Detricand's  eyes,  said,  — 

"  Monsieur,  you  are  the  Comte  de  Tournay ! " 

The  Chevalier  involuntarily  held  the  silence  for  an 
instant.  Nobody  stirred.  De  Mauprat  dropped  his 
chin  upon  his  hands,  and  his  eyebrows  drew  down  in 
excitement.  Guida  gave  a  little  cry  of  astonishment. 
But  Detricand  answered  the  Chevalier  with  a  look  of 
blank  surprise  and  a  shrug  of  the  shoulder,  which  had 
the  effect  desired. 

"Thank  you,  Chevalier,"  said  he  with  quizzical 
humor.  "  Now  I  know  who  I  am,  and  if  it  is  n't  too 
soon  to  levy  upon  the  kinship,  I  shall  dine  with  you 
to-day,  Chevalier.  I  paid  my  debts  yesterday,  and 
sous  are  scarce,  but  since  we  are  distant  cousins  I 
may  claim  grist  at  the  family  mill,  eh  ? " 

The  Chevalier  sat,  or  rather  dropped  into  his  chair 
again. 

"  Then  you  are  not  the  Comte  de  Tournay,  mon- 
sieur! "  said  he  hopelessly. 

"Then  I  shall  not  dine  with  you  to-day,"  retorted 
Detricand  gayly. 

"  You  fit  the  tale,"  said  de  Mauprat  dubiously,  touch- 
ing the  letter  with  his  finger. 

"Let  me  see,"  rejoined  Detricand.  "I've  been  a 
donkey  farmer,  a  shipmaster's  assistant,  a  tobacco  ped- 
dler, a  quarryman,  a  wood  merchant,  an  interpreter,  a 
fisherman  —  that's  very  like  the  Comte  de  Tournay! 
On  Monday  night  I  supped  with  a  smuggler ;  on 
Tuesday  I  breakfasted  on  soupe  a  la  graisse  with 
Manon  Moignard,  the  witch ;  on  Wednesday  I  dined 
with  Dormy  Jamais  and  an  avocat  disbarred  for  writ- 
ing lewd  songs  for  a  chocolate-house  ;  on  Thursday  I 


64   THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

went  oyster-fishing  with  a  native  who  has  three  wives, 
and  a  butcher  who  has  been  banished  four  times  for 
not  keeping  holy  the  Sabbath  Day  ;  and  I  drank  from 
eleven  o'clock  till  sunrise  this  morning  with  three 
Scotch  sergeants  of  the  line  —  which  is  very  like  the 
Comte  de  Tournay,  as  you  were  saying,  Chevalier !  I 
am  five  feet  eleven,  and  the  Comte  de  Tournay  was 
five  feet  ten  —  which  is  no  lie,"  he  added  under  his 
breath.  "  I  have  a  scar,  but  it 's  over  my  left  shoul- 
der and  not  over  my  right  —  which  is  also  no  lie,"  he 
added  under  his  breath.  "  De  Tournay' s  hair  was 
brown,  and  mine,  you  see,  is  almost  a  dead  black  — 
fever  did  that,"  he  added  under  his  breath.  "  De 
Tournay  escaped  the  day  after  the  Battle  of  Jersey 
from  the  prison  hospital ;  I  was  left,  and  here  I  've 
been  ever  since,  —  Yves  Savary  dit  Detricand,  at  your 
service,  Chevalier ! " 

A  pained  expression  passed  over  the  Chevalier's 
face. 

"I  am  most  sorry ;  I  am  most  sorry,"  he  said  hesi- 
tatingly. "  I  had  no  wish  to  wound  your  feelings." 

"Ah,  it  is  de  Tournay  to  whom  you  must  apolo- 
gize," said  Detricand  musingly  with  a  droll  look. 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  continued  the  Chevalier,  "  for  some- 
how all  at  once  I  recalled  a  resemblance.  I  saw  de 
Tournay  when  he  was  fourteen,  —  yes,  I  think  it  was 
fourteen,  —  and  when  I  looked  at  you,  monsieur,  his 
face  came  back  to  me.  It  would  have  made  my 
cousin  so  happy  if  you  had  been  the  Comte  de  Tour- 
nay,  and  I  had  found  you  here."  The  old  man's  voice 
trembled  a  little.  "  We  are  growing  fewer  every  day, 
we  Frenchmen  of  the  ancient  families.  And  it  would 
have  made  my  cousin  so  happy,  as  I  was  saying,  mon- 
sieur." 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   65 

Detricand's  manner  changed ;  he  became  serious. 
The  devil-may-care,  irresponsible  shamelessness  of 
his  face  dropped  away  like  a  mask.  Something  had 
touched  him.  His  voice  changed  too. 

"De  Tournay  was  a  much  better  fellow  than  I 
am,  Chevalier,"  said  he — "and  that's  no  lie,"  he 
added  under  his  breath.  "  De  Tournay  was  a  fiery, 
ambitious  youngster  with  bad  companions.  De 
Tournay  told  me  he  repented  of  coming  with  Rulle- 
cour,  and  he  felt  he  had  spoilt  his  life,  —  that  he  could 
never  return  to  France  again  or  to  his  people." 

The  old  Chevalier  shook  his  head  sadly.  "Is  he 
dead  ?  "  he  asked. 

There  was  a  slight  pause,  and  then  Detricand 
answered,  "No,  still  living." 

"  Where  is  he  ? " 

"  I  promised  de  Tournay  that  I  would  never  reveal 
that." 

"  Might  I  not  write  to  him  ? "  asked  the  old  man. 

"  Assuredly,  Chevalier." 

"  Could  you  —  will  you  —  dispatch  a  letter  to  him 
from  me,  monsieur  ? " 

"  Upon  my  honor,  yes  ! " 

"  I  thank  you,  I  thank  you,  monsieur ;  I  will  write 
it  to-day." 

"As  you  will,  Chevalier.  I  will  ask  you  for  the 
letter  to-night,"  rejoined  Detricand.  "It  may  take 
time  to  reach  de  Tournay ;  but  he  shall  receive  it 
into  his  own  hands." 

De  Mauprat  trembled  to  his  feet  to  put  the  ques- 
tion he  knew  the  Chevalier  dreaded  to  ask  :  — 

"  Do  you  think  that  Monsieur  le  Comte  will  return 
to  France  ? " 

"  I  think  he  will,"  answered  Detricand  slowly. 


66   THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

"  It  will  make  my  cousin  so  happy,  so  happy ! " 
quavered  the  little  Chevalier.  "  Will  you  take  snuff 
with  me,  monsieur  ?  "  He  offered  his  silver  snuff-box 
to  his  vagrant  countryman.  This  was  a  mark  of  favor 
he  showed  to  few. 

Detricand  bowed,  accepted,  and  took  a  pinch.  "  I 
must  be  going,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER   IX 

AT  eight  o'clock  the  next  morning,  Guida  and  her 
fellow  voyagers,  bound  for  the  Ecrehos  Rocks, 
had  caught  the  first  ebb  of  the  tide,  and  with  a  fair 
wind  from  the  sou'-west  had  skirted  the  coast,  ridden 
lightly  over  the  Bane  des  Violets,  and  shaped  their 
course  nor'-east  Guida  kept  the  helm  all  the  way, 
as  she  had  been  promised  by  Ranulph.  It  was  still 
more  than  half-tide  when  they  approached  the  rocks, 
and,  with  a  fair  wind,  there  should  be  ease  in  landing. 

No  more  desolate  spot  might  be  imagined.  To 
the  left,  as  you  faced  towards  Jersey,  was  a  long 
sand-bank.  Between  the  rocks  and  the  sand-bank 
shot  up  a  tall,  lonely  shaft  of  granite,  with  an  evil 
history.  It  had  been  chosen  as  the  last  refuge  of 
safety  for  the  women  and  children  of  a  shipwrecked 
vessel,  in  the  belief  that  high  tide  would  not  reach 
them.  But  the  wave  rose  up  maliciously,  foot  by 
foot,  till  it  drowned  their  cries  forever  in  the  storm. 
The  sand-bank  was  called  "  Ecriviere,"  and  the  rock 
was  afterwards  known  as  the  "  Pierre  des  Femmes." 

Other  rocks,  less  prominent,  but  no  less  treacherous, 
flanked  it,  —  the  Noir  Sabloniere  and  the  Grande 
Galere.  To  the  right  of  the  main  island  were  a 
group  of  others,  all  reef  and  shingle,  intersected  by 
treacherous  channels ;  in  calm  lapped  by  water  with 
the  colors  of  a  prism  of  crystal,  in  storm  by  a  leaden 
surf  and  flying  foam.  These  were  known  as  the 


68       THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

Colombiere,  the  Grosse  Tete,  Tas  de  Pois,  and  the 
Marmotiers ;  each  with  its  retinue  of  sunken  reefs 
and  needles  of  granitic  gneiss  lying  low  in  menace. 
Happy  the  sailor  caught  in  a  storm  and  making  for 
the  shelter  the  little  curves  in  the  island  afford,  who 
escapes  a  twist  of  the  current,  a  sweep  of  the  tide, 
and  the  impaling  ringers  of  the  submarine  palisades. 

Beyond  these  rocks  lay  Maitre  He,  all  gneiss  and 
shingle,  a  desert  in  the  sea.  The  holy  men  of  the 
early  Church,  beholding  it  from  the  shore  of  Nor- 
mandy, had  marked  it  for  a  refuge  from  the  storms 
of  war  and  the  follies  of  the  world.  So  it  came  to 
pass,  for  the  honor  of  God  and  the  Virgin  Mary,  the 
Abbe  of  Val  Richer  builded  a  priory  there  :  and  there 
now  lie  in  peace  the  bones  of  the  monks  of  Val  Richer 
beside  the  skeletons  of  unfortunate  gentlemen  of  the 
sea  of  later  centuries,  —  pirates  from  France,  bucca- 
neers from  England,  and  smugglers  from  Jersey,  who 
kept  their  trysts  in  the  precincts  of  the  ancient 
chapel. 

The  brisk  air  of  early  autumn  made  the  blood  tingle 
in  Guida's  cheeks.  Her  eyes  were  big  with  light  and 
enjoyment.  Her  hair  was  caught  close  by  a  gay  cap 
of  her  own  knitting  ;  but  a  little  of  it  escaped,  making 
a  pretty  setting  to  her  face. 

The  boat  rode  under  all  her  courses,  until,  as  Jean 
said,  they  had  put  the  last  lace  on  her  bonnet. 
Guida's  hands  were  on  the  tiller  firmly,  doing  Jean's 
bidding  promptly.  In  all  they  were  five.  Besides 
Guida  and  Ranulph,  Jean  and  Jean's  wife,  there  was  a 
young  English  clergyman  of  the  parish  of  St.  Mi- 
chael's, who  had  come  from  England  to  fill  the  place 
of  the  rector  for  a  few  months.  Word  had  been 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   69 

brought  to  him  that  a  man  was  dying  on  the  Ecrdhos. 
He  had  heard  that  the  boat  was  going,  he  had  found 
Jean  Touzel,  and  here  he  was,  with  a  biscuit  in  his 
hand  and  a  black-jack  of  French  wine  within  easy 
reach.  Not  always  in  secret  the  Reverend  Lorenzo 
Dow  loved  the  good  things  of  this  world. 

What  struck  one  most  in  the  young  clergyman's 
appearance  were  his  outer  guilelessness  and  the  odd- 
ness  of  his  face.  His  head  was  rather  big  for  his 
body ;  he  had  a  large  mouth  which  laughed  easily,  a 
noble  forehead,  and  big,  short-sighted  eyes.  He  knew 
French  well,  but  could  speak  almost  no  Jersey  patois  ; 
so,  in  compliment  to  him,  Jean  Touzel,  Ranulph,  and 
Guida  spoke  in  English.  This  ability  to  speak  Eng- 
lish —  his  own  English  —  was  the  pride  of  Jean's  life. 
He  babbled  it  all  the  way,  and  chiefly  about  a  myth- 
ical Uncle  Elias,  who  was  the  text  for  many  a  sermon. 

"Times  past,"  said  he,  as  they  neared  Maitre  He, 
"  mon  One'  'Lias  he  knows  these  Ecrehoses  better  as 
all  the  peoples  of  the  world  —  resp6  d'la  compagnie  ! 
Mon  One'  'Lias  he  was  a  fine  man.  Once  when  there 
is  a  fight  between  de  Henglish  and  de  hopping  John- 
nies," —  he  pointed  toward  France,  —  "  dere  is  seven 
French  ship,  dere  is  two  Henglish  ship,  —  gentlemen- 
of-war  dey  are  call.  Eh  ben,  one  of  de  Henglish  ships 
he  is  not  a  gentleman-of-war  ;  he  is  what  you  call  go- 
on-your-own-hook  —  privator.  But  it  is  all  de  same, 
—  tres-ba,  all  right !  What  you  think  coum  to  pass  ? 
De  big  Henglish  ship  she  is  hit  ver'  bad,  she  is  all 
break-up.  Efin,  dat  leetle  privator  he  stan'  round  on 
de  fighting  side  of  de  gentleman-of-war  and  take  de 
fire  by  her  loneliness.  Say,  then,  wherever  dere  is 
troub'  mon  One'  'Lias  he  is  there  ;  he  stan'  outside 
de  troub'  an'  look  on,  —  dat  is  his  hobby !  You  call 


70       THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG 

it  hombog  ?  Oh,  nannin-gia !  Suppose  two  peoples 
goes  to  fight,  ah  bah,  somebody  must  pick  up  de 
pieces,  — dat  is  mon  One'  'Lias  !  He  have  his  boat 
full  of  hoysters  ;  so  he  sit  dere  all  alone  and  watch  dat 
great  fight,  an'  heat  de  hoyster  an'  drink  de  cider  vine ! 
Ah  bah  !  mon  One'  'Lias  he  is  standin'  hin  de  door 
dat  day.  Dat  is  what  we  say  on  Jersey,  —  when  a 
man  have  some  ver'  great  luck  we  say  he  stan'  hin  de 
door.  I  t'ink  it  is  from  de  Bible  or  from  de  helmanac, 
—  sacrt  moi,  I  not  know !  ...  If  I  talk  too  much, 
you  give  me  dat  black-jack." 

They  gave  him  the  black-jack.  After  he  had  drunk 
and  wiped  his  mouth  on  his  sleeve,  he  went  on  :  — 

"  Oh,  my  good — ma'm'selle,  a  leetle  more  to  de 
wind.  Ah,  dat  is  right  —  trejous  !  .  .  .  Dat  fight  it  go 
like  two  bulls  on  a  verged  —  resp6  d'la  compagnie ! 
Mon  One'  'Lias  he  have  been  to  Hengland,  he  have 
sing '  God  save  our  greshus  King ; '  so  he  t'ink  a  leetle  : 
Ef  he  go  to  de  French,  likely  dey  will  hang  him. 
Mon  One'  'Lias,  he  is  what  you  call  patreetism.  He 
say,  'Hengland,  she  is  mine,  —  trejous!'  Efin,  he 
sail  straight  for  de  Henglish  ships.  Dat  is  de  greates' 
man,  mon  One'  'Lias  —  resp6  d'la  compagnie !  He 
coum  on  de  side  which  is  not  fighting.  Ah  bah,  he 
tell  dem  dat  he  go  to  save  de  gentleman-of-war.  He 
see  a  hofficier  all  bloodiness,  and  he  call  hup  :  '  Es-tu 
gentiment  ? '  he  say.  '  Gentiment,'  say  de  hofficier ; 
'han'  you  ? '  '  Naicely,  t'ank  you  ! '  mon  One'  'Lias 
he  say.  '  I  will  save  you,'  say  mon  One'  'Lias,  'I 
will  save  de  ship  of  God  save  our  greshus  King !  ' 
De  hofficier  wipe  de  tears  out  of  his  face.  '  De  King 
will  reward  you,  man  alive,'  he  say.  Mon  One'  'Lias 
he  touch  his  breast  and  speak  out :  '  Mon  hofficier, 
my  reward  is  here —  trejous !  I  will  take  you  into  de 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   71 

Ecrehoses.'  *  Coum  up  and  save  de  King's  ships,' 
says  de  hofficier.  '  I  will  take  no  reward,'  say  mon 
One'  'Lias,  'but,  for  a  leetle  pourboire,  you  will  give 
me  de  privator,  —  eh  ? '  '  Milles  sacr/s,'  say  de  hoffi- 
cier, '  milles  sacr/s,  de  privator ! '  he  say,  ver'  sur- 
prise'. '  Man  doux  d'la  vie  —  I  am  damned  ! '  '  You 
are  damned  trulee,  if  you  do  not  get  into  de  Ecr£- 
hoses,'  say  mon  One'  'Lias  —  'a  bi'tot,  good-by!'  he 
say.  De  hofficier  call  down  to  him,  '  Is  dere  nosing 
else  you  will  take  ? '  '  Nannin,  do  not  tempt  me,'  say 
mon  One'  'Lias.  '  I  am  not  a  gourman'.  I  will  take 
de  privator,  — dat  is  my  hobby.'  All  de  time  de  can- 
nons grand,  —  dey  brou-brou  !  boum-boiim  !  —  what 
you  call  discomfortable.  Time  is  de  great  t'ing,  so 
de  hofficier  wipe  de  tears  out  of  his  face  again.  '  Coum 
up,'  he  say  ;  '  de  privator  is  yours.' 

"  Away  dey  go.  You  see  dat  spot  where  we  coum 
to  land,  Ma'm'selle  Landresse,  —  where  de  shingle 
look  white,  de  leetle  green  grass  above  ?  Dat  is  where 
mon  One'  'Lias  he  bring  in  de  King's  ship  and  de 
privator.  Gatd'en'ale — it  is  a  journee  awful!  He 
twist  to  de  right,  he  shape  to  de  left  t'rough  de  teeth 
of  de  rocks — all  safe — vera  happee — to  dis  nice  leetle 
bay  of  de  Maitre  He  dey  coum.  De  Frenchies  dey 
grind  deir  teeth  and  spit  de  fire.  But  de  Henglish 
laugh  at  dem  —  dey  are  safe !  '  Frien'  of  my  heart,' 
say  de  hofficier  to  mon  One'  'Lias,  'pilot  of  pilots,' 
he  say,  '  in  de  name  of  our  greshus  King  I  t'ank  you 
—  a  bi'tot,  good-by  ! '  he  say.  '  Tres-ba,'  mon  One' 
'Lias  he  say  den,  'I  will  go  to  my  privator.'  'You 
will  go  to  de  shore ! '  say  de  hofficier.  '  You  will 
wait  on  de  shore  till  de  captain  and  his  men  of  de 
privator  coum  to  you.  When  dey  coum,  de  ship  is 
yours  —  de  privator  is  for  you.'  Mon  One'  'Lias  he 


72   THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

is  like  a  child  —  he  believe.  He  'bout  ship  and  go 
shore.  Misery  me,  he  sit  on  dat  rocking-stone  you 
see  tipping  on  de  wind.  But  if  he  wait  until  de  men 
of  de  privator  coum  to  him,  he  will  wait  till  we  see 
him  sitting  there  now !  Gache-a-penn,  you  say  pa- 
triote  ?  Mon  One'  'Lias  he  has  de  patreeteesm,  and 
what  happen  ?  He  save  de  ship  of  de  greshus  King 
God  save  —  and  dey  eat  up  his  hoysters  !  He  get 
nosing.  Gad'rabotin  —  respe  d'la  compagnie  !  —  if 
dere  is  a  ship  of  de  King  coum  to  de  Ecrehoses,  and 
de  hofficier  say  to  me,"  —  he  tapped  his  breast,  — 
" '  Jean  Touzel,  tak  de  ships  of  de  King  t'rough  de 
rocks,' — ah  bah,  I  would  rememb'  mon  One'  'Lias. 
I  would  say,  'A  bi'tot,  good-by.'  .  .  .  Slowlee !  Slowlee ! 
We  are  at  de  place.  Bear  wif  de  land,  ma'm'selle ! 
Steadee  !  As  you  go !  Via !  hitch  now,  Maitre  Ra- 
nulph  !  " 

The  keel  of  the  boat  grated  on  the  shingle. 

The  air  of  the  morning,  the  sport  of  using  the  ele- 
ments for  one's  pleasure,  had  given  Guida  an  elfish 
sprightliness  of  spirits.  Twenty  times  during  Jean's 
recital  she  had  laughed  gayly,  and  never  sat  a  laugh 
better  on  any  one's  countenance  than  on  hers.  Her 
teeth  were  strong,  white,  and  regular ;  in  themselves 
they  gave  off  a  sort  of  shining  mirth. 

At  first  the  lugubrious  wife  of  the  happy  Jean  was 
inclined  to  resent  Guida's  gayety  as  unseemly,  for 
Jean's  story  sounded  to  her  as  serious  statement  of 
fact ;  which  incapacity  for  humor  probably  accounted 
for  Jean's  occasional  lapses  from  domestic  grace.  If 
Jean  had  said  that  he  had  met  a  periwinkle  dancing  a 
hornpipe  with  an  oyster  she  would  have  muttered 
heavily,  "  Think  of  that !  "  The  most  she  could  say 
to  any  one  was,  "  I  believe  you,  ma  couzaine."  Some 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   73 

time  in  her  life  her  voice  had  dropped  into  that  great 
well  she  called  her  body,  and  it  came  up  only  now 
and  then  like  an  echo.  There  never  was  anything 
quite  so  fat  as  she.  She  was  found  weeping  one  day 
on  the  veille  because  she  was  no  longer  able  to  get 
her  shoulders  out  of  the  window  to  use  the  clothes- 
lines stretching  to  her  neighbor's  over  the  way.  If 
she  sat  down  in  your  presence,  it  was  impossible  to 
do  aught  but  speculate  as  to  whether  she  could  get 
up  alone.  Yet  she  went  abroad  on  the  water  a  great 
deal  with  Jean.  At  first  the  neighbors  gave  out  sin- 
ister suspicions  as  to  Jean's  intentions,  for  sea-going 
with  your  own  wife  was  uncommon  among  the  sailors 
of  the  coast.  But  at  last  these  dark  suggestions 
settled  down  into  a  belief  that  Jean  took  her  chiefly 
for  ballast ;  and  thereafter  she  was  familiarly  called 
"  Femme  de  Ballast !  " 

Talking  was  no  virtue  in  her  eyes.  What  was  go- 
ing on  in  her  mind  no  one  ever  knew.  She  was  more 
phlegmatic  than  an  Indian  ;  but  the  tails  of  the  sheep 
on  the  Town  Hill  did  not  better  show  the  quarter  of 
the  wind  than  the  changing  color  of  Aimable's  face 
indicated  Jean's  coming  or  going.  For  Maitresse 
Aimable  had  one  eternal  secret,  an  unwavering  pas- 
sion for  Jean  Touzel.  If  he  patted  her  on  the  back 
on  a  day  when  the  fishing  was  extra  fine,  her  heart 
pumped  so  hard  she  had  to  sit  down ;  if,  passing  her 
lonely  bed  of  a  morning,  he  shook  her  great  toe  to 
wake  her,  she  blushed,  and  turned  her  face  to  the 
wall  in  placid  happiness.  She  was  so  credulous  and 
matter-of-fact  that  if  Jean  had  told  her  she  must  die 
on  the  spot,  she  would  have  said,  "Think  of  that!" 
or  "  Je  te  crais,"  and  died.  If  in  the  vague  dusk  of 
her  brain  the  thought  glimmered  that  she  was  ballast 


74       THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG 

for  Jean  on  sea  and  anchor  on  land,  she  still  was  con- 
tent. For  twenty  years  the  massive,  straight-limbed 
Jean  had  stood  to  her  for  all  things  since  the  heavens 
and  the  earth  were  created.  Once,  when  she  had 
burnt  her  hand  in  cooking  supper  for  him,  his  arm 
made  a  trial  of  her  girth,  and  he  kissed  her.  The 
kiss  was  nearer  her  ear  than  her  lips,  but  to  her  mind 
it  was  the  most  solemn  proof  of  her  connubial  happi- 
ness and  of  Jean's  devotion.  She  was  a  Catholic, 
unlike  Jean  and  most  people  of  her  class  in  Jersey, 
and  ever  since  that  night  he  kissed  her  she  had  told 
an  extra  bead  on  her  rosary  and  said  another  prayer. 

These  were  the  reasons  why  at  first  she  was  inclined 
to  resent  Guida's  laughter.  But  when  she  saw  that 
Maitre  Ranulph  and  the  curate  and  Jean  himself 
laughed,  she  settled  down  to  a  grave  content  until 
they  landed. 

They  had  scarce  reached  the  deserted  chapel  where 
their  dinner  was  to  be  cooked  by  Maitresse  Aimable, 
when  Ranulph  called  them  to  note  a  vessel  bearing  in 
their  direction. 

"  She 's  not  a  coasting  craft,"  said  Jean. 

"She  doesn't  look  like  a  merchant  vessel,"  said 
Ranulph,  eying  her  through  his  telescope.  "Why, 
she 's  a  warship !  "  he  added. 

Jean  thought  she  was  not,  but  Maitre  Ranulph  said, 
"  Pardi !  I  ought  to  know,  Jean.  Ship-building  is  my 
trade,  to  say  nothing  of  guns  ;  I  was  n't  two  years  in 
the  artillery  for  nothing.  See  the  low  bowsprit  and 
the  high  poop.  She  's  bearing  this  way.  She  '11  be 
Narcissus  !  "  he  said  slowly. 

That  was  Philip  d'Avranche's  ship. 

Guida's  face  lighted,  her  heart  beat  faster.  Ranulph 
turned  on  his  heel. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   75 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Ro  ? "  Guida  said,  taking 
a  step  after  him. 

"  On  the  other  side,  to  my  men  and  the  wreck,"  he 
said,  pointing. 

Guida  glanced  once  more  towards  the  man-o'-war, 
and  then,  with  mischief  in  her  eye,  turned  towards 
Jean. 

"  Suppose,"  she  said  to  him  archly,  "  suppose  the 
ship  should  want  to  come  in,  of  course  you  'd  remem- 
ber your  One'  'Lias,  and  say,  '  A  bi'tot,  good-by ! ' ' 

An  evasive  "  Ah  bah ! "  was  the  only  reply  Jean 
vouchsafed. 

Ranulph  joined  his  men  at  the  wreck,  and  the  Rev- 
erend Lorenzo  Dow  went  about  the  Lord's  business- 
in  the  little  lean-to  of  sail-cloth  and  ship's  lumber  which 
had  been  set  up  near  to  the  toil  of  the  carpenters. 

When  the  curate  entered  the  hut  the  sick  man  was 
in  a  doze.  He  turned  his  head  from  side  to  side  rest- 
lessly and  mumbled  to  himself.  The  curate,  sitting 
on  the  ground  beside  the  man,  took  from  his  pocket 
a  book,  and  began  writing  in  a  strange,  cramped  hand. 
This  book  was  his  journal.  When  a  youth  he  had 
been  a  stutterer,  and  had  taken  refuge  from  talk  in 
writing,  and  the  habit  stayed  even  as  his  affliction 
grew  less.  The  important  events  of  the  day  or  the 
week,  the  weather,  the  wind,  the  tides,  were  recorded, 
together  with  sundry  meditations  of  the  Reverend 
Lorenzo  Dow.  The  pages  were  not  large,  and  brev- 
ity was  Mr.  Dow's  journalistic  virtue.  Beyond  the 
diligent  keeping  of  this  record,  he  had  no  habits,  cer- 
tainly no  precision,  no  remembrance,  no  system  :  the 
business  of  his  life  ended  there.  He  had  quietly 
vacated  two  curacies  because  there  had  been  bitter 
complaints  that  the  records  of  certain  baptisms, 


76       THE   BATTLE    OF   THE   STRONG 

marriages,  and  burials  might  only  be  found  in  the 
checkered  journals  of  his  life,  sandwiched  between 
fantastic  reflections  and  remarks  upon  the  rubric. 
The  records  had  been  exact  enough,  but  the  system 
was  not  canonical,  and  it  rested  too  largely  upon  the 
personal  ubiquity  of  the  itinerary  priest,  and  the  safety 
of  his  journal  —  and  of  his  life. 

Guida,  after  the  instincts  of  her  nature,  had  at  once 
sought  the  highest  point  on  the  rocky  islet,  and  there 
she  drank  in  the  joy  of  sight  and  sound  and  feeling. 
She  could  see  —  so  perfect  was  the  day  —  the  line 
marking  the  Minquiers  far  on  the  southern  horizon, 
the  dark  and  perfect  green  of  the  Jersey  slopes,  and 
the  white  flags  of  foam  which  beat  against  the  Di- 
roui'lles  and  the  far-off  Paternosters,  dissolving  as 
they  flew,  their  place  taken  by  others,  succeeding  and 
succeeding,  as  a  soldier  steps  into  a  gap  in  the  line  of 
battle.  Something  in  these  rocks,  something  in  the 
Paternosters  —  perhaps  their  distance,  perhaps  their 
remoteness  from  all  other  rocks  —  fascinated  her.  As 
she  looked  at  them,  she  suddenly  felt  a  chill,  a  pre- 
monition, a  half-spiritual,  half-material  telegraphy  of 
the  inanimate  to  the  animate :  not  from  off  cold  stone 
to  sentient  life,  but  from  that  atmosphere  about  the 
inanimate  thing,  where  the  life  of  man  has  spent  it- 
self and  been  dissolved,  leaving  —  who  can  tell  what  ? 
Something  which  speaks,  but  yet  has  no  sound. 

The  feeling  which  possessed  Guida  as  she  looked 
at  the  Paternosters  was  almost  like  blank  fear.  Yet 
physical  fear  she  had  never  felt,  not  since  that  day 
when  the  battle  raged  in  the  Vier  March i,  and  Philip 
d'Avranche  had  saved  her  from  the  destroying  scimi- 
tar of  the  Turk.  Now  that  scene  all  came  back  to 
her  in  a  flash,  as  it  were ;  and  she  saw  again  the  dark 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   77 

snarling  face  of  the  Mussulman,  the  blue  and  white 
silk  of  his  turban,  the  black  and  white  of  his  waistcoat, 
the  red  of  the  long  robe,  and  the  glint  of  his  uplifted 
sword.  Then  in  contrast,  the  warmth,  brightness, 
and  bravery  on  the  face  of  the  lad  in  blue  and  gold 
who  struck  aside  the  descending  blade  and  caught  her 
up  in  his  arms  ;  and  she  had  nestled  there  —  in  those 
arms  of  Philip  d'Avranche.  She  remembered  how 
he  had  kissed  her,  and  how  she  had  kissed  him,  — he 
a  lad  and  she  a  little  child,  —  as  he  left  her  with  her 
mother  in  the  watchmaker's  shop  in  the  Vier  Marchi 
that  day.  .  .  .  And  she  had  never  seen  him  again 
until  yesterday. 

She  looked  from  the  rocks  to  the  approaching 
frigate.  Was  it  the  Narcissus  coming,  —  coming  to 
this  very  island  ?  She  recalled  Philip,  —  how  gallant 
he  was  yesterday,  how  cool,  with  what  an  air  of  com- 
mand !  How  light  he  had  made  of  the  riot !  She  ac- 
cepted Ranulph's  strength  and  courage  as  a  matter  of 
course,  and  was  glad  that  he  was  brave,  generous,  and 
good  ;  but  the  glamour  of  distance  and  mystery  were 
around  d'Avranche.  Remembrance,  like  a  comet, 
went  circling  through  the  firmament  of  eleven  years, 
from  the  Vier  Marchi  to  the  Place  du  Vier  Prison. 

She  watched  the  ship  slowly  bearing  with  the  land. 
The  Jack  was  flying  from  the  mizzen.  They  were 
now  taking  in  her  topsails.  She  was  so  near  that 
Guida  could  see  the  anchor  a-cockbill,  and  the  poop 
lanterns.  She  could  count  the  guns  like  long  black 
horns  shooting  out  from  a  rhinoceros  hide  :  she  could 
discern  the  figure-head  lion  snarling  into  the  spritsail. 
Presently  the  ship  came  up  to  the  wind  and  lay  to. 
Then  she  signaled  for  a  pilot,  and  Guida  ran  towards 
the  ruined  chapel,  calling  for  Jean  Touzel. 


78       THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

In  spite  of  Jean's  late  protests  as  to  piloting  a 
" gentleman-of-war,"  this  was  one  of  the  joyful  mo- 
ments of  his  life.  He  could  not  loosen  his  rowboat 
quick  enough  ;  he  was  away  almost  before  you  could 
have  spoken  his  name.  Excited  as  Guida  was,  she 
could  not  resist  calling  after  him,  — 

" '  God  save  our  greshus  King !  A  bi'tot  —  good- 
by  ! '" 


CHAPTER   X 

AS  Ranulph  had  surmised,  the  ship  was  the 
Narcissus,  and  its  first  lieutenant  was  Philip 
d'Avranche.  The  night  before,  orders  had  reached 
the  vessel  from  the  Admiralty  that  soundings  were  to 
be  taken  at  the  Ecrehos.  The  captain  had  at  once 
made  inquiries  for  a  pilot,  and  Jean  Touzel  was  com- 
mended to  him.  A  messenger  sent  to  Jean  found 
that  he  had  already  gone  to  the  Ecrehos.  The  cap- 
tain had  then  set  sail,  and  now,  under  Jean's  skillful 
pilotage,  the  Narcissus  twisted  and  crept  through  the 
teeth  of  the  rocks  at  the  entrance,  and  slowly  into 
the  cove,  reefs  on  either  side  gaping  and  girding  at 
her,  her  keel  all  but  scraping  the  serrated  granite 
beneath.  She  anchored,  and  boats  put  off  to  take 
soundings  and  explore  the  shores.  Philip  was  rowed 
in  by  Jean  Touzel. 

Stepping  out  upon  the  beach  of  Maitre  He,  Philip 
slowly  made  his  way  over  the  shingle  to  the  ruined 
chapel,  in  no  good  humor  with  himself  or  with  the 
world,  for  exploring  these  barren  rocks  seemed  a  use- 
less whim  of  the  Admiralty,  and  he  could  not  conceive 
of  any  incident  rising  from  the  monotony  of  duty  to 
lighten  the  darkness  of  this  very  brilliant  day.  His 
was  not  the  nature  to  enjoy  the  stony  detail  of  his 
profession.  Excitement  and  adventure  were  as  the 
breath  of  life  to  him,  and  since  he  had  played  his 
little  part  at  the  Jersey  battle  in  a  bandbox  eleven 


8o       THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

years  before,  he  had  touched  hands  with  accidents  of 
flood  and  field  in  many  countries. 

He  had  been  wrecked  on  the  island  of  Trinidad  in 
a  tornado,  losing  his  captain  and  his  ship  ;  had  seen 
active  service  in  America  and  in  India ;  won  distinc- 
tion off  the  coast  of  Arabia  in  an  engagement  with 
Spanish  cruisers  ;  and  was  now  waiting  for  his  papers 
as  commander  of  a  ship  of  his  own,  and  fretted 
because  the  road  of  fame  and  promotion  was  so  toil- 
some. Rumors  of  war  with  France  had  set  his  blood 
dancing  a  little,  but  for  him  most  things  were  robbed 
of  half  their  pleasure  because  they  did  not  come  at 
once. 

This  was  a  moody  day  with  him,  for  he  had  looked 
to  spend  it  differently.  As  he  walked  up  the  shingle 
his  thoughts  were  hanging  about  a  cottage  in  the 
Place  du  Vier  Prison.  He  had  hoped  to  loiter  in  a 
doorway  there,  and  to  empty  his  sailor's  heart  in  well- 
practiced  admiration  before  the  altar  of  village  beauty. 
The  sight  of  Guida's  face  the  day  before  had  given 
a  poignant  pulse  to  his  emotions,  unlike  the  broken 
rhythm  of  past  comedies  of  sentiment  and  melodramas 
of  passion.  According  to  all  logic  of  custom,  the 
acuteness  of  yesterday's  impression  should  have  been 
followed  up  by  to-day's  attack  ;  yet  here  he  was,  like 
another  Robinson  Crusoe,  "  kicking  up  the  shingle  of 
a  cursed  Patmos," -  — so  he  grumbled  aloud.  Patmos 
was  not  so  wild  a  shot  after  all,  for  no  sooner  had  he 
spoken  the  word  than,  looking  up,  he  saw  in  the  door- 
way of  the  ruined  chapel  the  gracious  figure  of  a  girl : 
and  a  book  of  revelations  was  opened  and  begun. 

At  first  he  did  not  recognize  Guida.  There  was 
only  a  picture  before  him  which,  by  some  fantastic 
transmission,  merged  into  his  reveries.  What  he  saw 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   81 

was  an  ancient  building, — just  such  a  humble  pile  of 
stone  and  rough  mortar  as  one  might  see  on  some 
lone  cliff  of  the  yEgean  or  on  abandoned  isles  of  the 
equatorial  sea.  The  gloom  of  a  windowless  vault  was 
behind  the  girl,  but  the  filtered  sunshine  of  late  Sep- 
tember fell  on  her  head.  It  brightened  the  white 
kerchief,  and  the  bodice  and  skirt  of  a  faint  pink, 
throwing  the  face  into  a  pleasing  shadow  where  the 
hand  curved  over  the  forehead.  She  stood  like  some 
Diana  of  a  ruined  temple  looking  out  into  the  staring 
day. 

At  once  his  pulses  beat  faster,  for  to  him  a  woman 
was  ever  the  fountain  of  adventure,  and  an  unmanage- 
able heart  sent  him  headlong  to  the  oasis  where  he 
might  loiter  at  the  spring  of  feminine  vanity,  or  truth, 
or  impenitent  gayety,  as  the  case  might  be.  In  pro- 
portion as  his  spirits  had  sunk  into  sour  reflection, 
they  now  shot  up  rocket-high  at  the  sight  of  a  girl's 
joyous  pose  of  body  and  the  color  and  form  of  the 
picture  she  made.  In  him  the  shrewdness  of  a  strong 
intelligence  was  mingled  with  wild  impulse.  In  most, 
rashness  would  be  the  outcome  of  such  a  marriage  of 
characteristics ;  but  clearsightedness,  decision,  and  a 
little  unscrupulousness  had  carried  into  success  many 
daring  actions  of  his  life.  This  very  quality  of  reso- 
lute daring  saved  him  from  disaster. 

Impulse  quickened  his  footsteps  now.  It  quickened 
them  to  a  run  when  the  hand  was  dropped  from  the 
girl's  forehead,  and  he  saw  again  the  face  whose  image 
and  influence  had  banished  sleep  from  his  eyes  the 
night  before. 

"  Guida !  "  broke  from  his  lips. 

The  man  was  transfigured.  Brightness  leaped  into 
his  look,  and  the  grayness  of  his  moody  eye  became 


82       THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

as  blue  as  the  sea.  The  professional  straightness  of 
his  figure  relaxed  into  the  elastic  grace  of  an  athlete. 
He  was  a  pipe  to  be  played  on:  an  actor  with  the 
ambitious  brain  of  a  diplomatist ;  as  weak  as  water, 
and  as  strong  as  steel ;  soft-hearted  to  foolishness,  or 
unyielding  at  will. 

Now,  if  the  devil  had  sent  a  wise  imp  to  have  watch 
and  ward  of  this  man  and  this  maid,  and  report  to 
him  upon  the  meeting  of  their  ways,  the  moment 
Philip  took  Guida's  hand,  and  her  eyes  met  his,  mon- 
sieur the  reporter  of  Hades  might  have  clapped  to  his 
book  and  gone  back  to  his  dark  master  with  the 
message  and  the  record :  "  The  hour  of  Destiny  is 
struck ! " 

When  the  tide  of  life  beats  high  in  two  mortals, 
and  they  meet  in  the  moment  of  its  apogee,  when  all 
the  nature  is  sweeping  on  without  command,  guile- 
lessly, yet  thoughtlessly,  the  mere  lilt  of  existence 
lulling  to  sleep  wisdom  and  tried  experience  —  specu- 
lation points  all  one  way.  Many  indeed  have  been 
caught  away  by  such  a  conjunction  of  tides,  and  they 
mostly  pay  the  price. 

But  paying  is  part  of  the  game  of  life :  it  is  the 
joy  of  buying  that  we  crave.  Go  down  into  the  dark 
markets  of  the  town.  See  the  long,  narrow,  sordid 
streets  lined  with  the  cheap  commodities  of  the  poor. 
Mark  how  there  is  a  sort  of  spangled  gayety,  a  reck- 
less swing,  a  grinning  exultation  in  the  grimy,  sordid 
caravanserai.  The  cheap  colors  of  the  shoddy  open- 
air  clothing-house,  the  blank  faded  green  of  the  cos- 
ter's cart ;  the  dark  bluish-red  of  the  butcher's  stall  — 
they  all  take  on  a  value  not  their  own  in  the  garish 
lights  flaring  down  the  markets  of  the  dusk.  Pause  to 
the  shrill  music  of  the  street  musician,  hear  the  tune- 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   83 

less  voice  of  the  grimy  troubadour  of  the  alley-ways  ; 
and  then  hark  to  the  one  note  that  commands  them 
all,  —  the  call  which  lightens  up  faces  sodden  with 
base  vices,  eyes  bleared  withi  long  looking  into  the 
dark  caverns  of  crime,  — 

"Buy  —  buy  —  buy  —  buy  —  buy !  " 

That  is  the  tune  the  piper  pipes.  We  would  buy,  and 
behold,  we  must  pay.  Then  the  lights  go  out,  the 
voices  stop,  and  only  the  dark  tumultuous  streets  sur- 
round us,  and  the  grime  of  life  is  ours  again.  Where- 
upon we  go  heavily  to  hard  beds  of  despair,  having 
eaten  the  cake  we  bought,  and  now  must  pay  for  unto 
Penalty,  the  dark  inordinate  creditor.  And  anon  the 
morning  comes,  and  then,  at  last,  the  evening  when 
the  triste  bazaars  open  again,  and  the  strong  of  heart 
and  nerve  move  not  from  their  doorways,  but  sit  still 
in  the  dusk  to  watch  the  grim  world  go  by.  But 
mostly  they  hurry  out  to  the  bazaars  once  more, 
answering  to  the  fevered  call,  — 

"  Buy  —  buy  —  buy  —  buy  —  buy  ! " 

And  again  they  pay  the  price :  and  so  on  to  the  last 
foreclosure  and  the  immitigable  end. 

One  of  the  two  standing  in  the  door  of  the  ruined 
chapel  on  the  Ecrehos  had  the  nature  of  those  who 
buy  but  once  and  pay  the  price  but  once ;  the  other 
was  of  those  who  keep  open  accounts  in  the  markets 
of  life.  The  one  was  the  woman  and  the  other  was 
the  man. 

There  was  nothing  conventional  in  their  greeting. 
"  You  remembered  me !  "  he  said  eagerly,  in  Eng- 
lish, thinking  of  yesterday. 

"  I  should  n't  deserve  to  be  here  if  I  had  forgotten," 


84       THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG 

she  answered  meaningly.  "  Perhaps  you  forget  the 
sword  of  the  Turk  ?  "  she  added. 

He  laughed  a  little,  his  cheek  flushed  with  pleasure. 

"  I  should  n't  deserve*to  be  here  if  I  remembered  — 
in  the  way  you  mean ! "  he  answered. 

Her  face  was  full  of  pleasure.  "The  worst  of  it 
is,"  she  said,  "  I  never  can  pay  my  debt.  I  have  owed 
it  for  eleven  years,  and  if  I  should  live  to  be  ninety  I 
should  still  owe  it." 

His  heart  was  beating  hard  and  he  became  daring. 

"  So  —  thou  shalt  save  my  life,"  he  said,  speaking  in 
French.  "  We  shall  be  quits  then,  thou  and  I." 

The  familiar  French  thou  startled  her.  To  hide  the 
instant's  confusion  she  turned  her  head  away,  using  a 
hand  to  gather  in  her  hair,  which  the  wind  was  lifting 
lightly. 

"  That  would  n't  quite  make  us  quits,"  she  rejoined ; 
"your  life  is  important,  mine  isn't.  You"  —  she 
nodded  towards  the  Narcissus  —  "  you  command  men." 

"  So  dost  thou,"  he  answered,  persisting  in  the 
endearing  pronoun. 

He  meant  it  to  be  endearing.  As  he  had  sailed  up 
and  down  the  world,  a  hundred  ports  had  offered  him 
a  hundred  adventures,  all  light  in  the  scales  of  pur- 
pose, but  not  all  bad.  He  had  gossiped  and  idled  and 
coquetted  with  beauty  before ;  but  this  was  different, 
because  the  nature  of  the  girl  was  different  from  all 
others  he  had  met.  It  had  mostly  been  lightly  come 
and  lightly  go  with  himself,  as  with  the  women  it  had 
been  easily  won  and  easily  loosed.  Conscience  had  not 
smitten  him  hard,  because  beauty,  as  he  had  known  it, 
though  often  fair  and  of  good  report,  had  bloomed  for 
others  before  he  came.  But  here  was  a  nature  fresh 
and  unspoiled  from  the  hand  of  the  potter  Life. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG       85 

As  her  head  slightly  turned  from  him  again,  he 
involuntarily  noticed  the  pulse  beating  in  her  neck, 
the  rise  and  fall  of  her  bosom.  Life  —  here  was  life 
unpoisoned  by  one  drop  of  ill  thought  or  light  experi- 
ence. 

"Thou  dost  command  men  too,"  he  repeated. 

She  stepped  forward  a  little  from  the  doorway  and 
beyond  him,  answering  back  at  him  :  — 

"  Oh,  no,  I  only  knit,  and  keep  a  garden,  and  com- 
mand a  little  home,  that 's  all.  .  .  .  Won't  you  let  me 
show  you  the  island  ?  "  she  added  quickly,  pointing  to 
a  hillock  beyond,  and  moving  towards  it.  He  fol- 
lowed, speaking  over  her  shoulder. 

"That's  what  you  seem  to  do,"  he  answered,  "not 
what  you  do."  Then  he  added  rhetorically,  "  I  've 
seen  a  man  polishing  the  buckle  of  his  shoe,  and  he 
was  planning  to  take  a  city  or  manoeuvre  a  fleet !  " 

She  noticed  that  he  had  dropped  the  thou,  and, 
much  as  its  use  had  embarrassed  her,  the  gap  left 
when  the  boldness  was  withdrawn  became  rilled  with 
regret,  for,  though  no  one  had  dared  to  say  it  to  her 
before,  somehow  it  seemed  not  rude  on  Philip's  lips. 
Philip  ?  Yes,  Philip  she  had  called  him  in  her  child- 
hood, and  the  name  had  been  carried  on  into  her  girl- 
hood ;  he  had  always  been  Philip  to  her. 

"  Oh  no,  girls  don't  think  like  that,  and  they  don't 
do  big  things  !  "  she  replied.  "  When  I  polish  the 
pans "  -  she  laughed  —  "  and  when  I  scour  my 
buckles,  I  just  think  of  pans  and  buckles."  She 
tossed  up  her  fingers  lightly,  with  a  perfect  charm  of 
archness. 

He  was  very  close  to  her  now.  "  But  girls  have 
dreams,  they  have  memories." 

"If  women  hadn't  memory,"  she  answered,  "they 


86       THE  BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG 

would  n't  have  much,  would  they  ?  We  can't  take 
cities  and  manoeuvre  fleets."  She  laughed  a  little 
ironically.  "  I  wonder  that  we  think  at  all  or  have 
anything  to  think  about,  except  the  kitchen  and  the 
garden,  and  baking  and  scouring  and  spinning,"  — 
she  paused  slightly,  her  voice  lowered  a  little,  —  "  and 
the  sea,  and  the  work  that  men  do  round  us.  .  .  . 
Do  you  ever  go  into  a  market  ?  "  she  added  suddenly. 

Somehow  she  could  talk  easily  and  naturally  to 
him.  There  had  been  no  leading  up  to  confidence. 
She  felt  a  sudden  impulse  to  tell  him  all  her  thoughts. 
To  know  things,  to  understand,  was  a  passion  with 
her.  It  seemed  to  obliterate  in  her  all  that  was  con- 
ventional ;  it  removed  her  far  from  sensitive  ego- 
tism. Already  she  had  begun  "  to  take  notice "  in 
the  world,  —  and  that  is  like  being  born  again.  As 
it  grows,  life  ceases  to  be  clicht ;  and  when  the 
taking  notice  is  supreme  we  call  it  genius ;  and  genius 
is  simple  and  believing :  it  has  no  pride,  it  is  nai've, 
it  is  childlike. 

Philip  seemed  to  wear  no  mark  of  convention,  and 
Guida  spoke  her  thoughts  freely  to  him.  "To  go 
into  a  market  seems  to  me  so  wonderful,"  she  con- 
tinued. "  There  are  the  cattle,  the  fruits,  the  vege- 
tables, the  flowers,  the  fish,  the  wood  ;  the  linen  from 
the  loom,  the  clothes  that  women's  fingers  have 
knitted.  But  it  is  n't  just  those  things  that  you  see, 
it 's  all  that 's  behind  them,  —  the  houses,  the  fields, 
and  the  boats  at  sea,  and  the  men  and  women  work- 
ing and  working,  and  sleeping  and  eating,  and  break- 
ing their  hearts  with  misery,  and  wondering  what  is 
to  be  the  end  of  it  all ;  yet  praying  a  little,  it  may 
be,  and  dreaming  a  little,  —  perhaps  a  very  little. " 
She  sighed,  and  continued,  "  That 's  as  far  as  I  get 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG       87 

with  thinking.  What  else  can  one  do  in  this  little 
island  ?  Why,  on  the  globe  Maitre  Damian  has  at 
St.  Aubin's,  Jersey  is  no  bigger  than  the  head  of  a 
pin.  And  what  should  one  think  of  here  ?  " 

Her  eyes  were  on  the  sea.  Its  mystery  was  in 
them,  the  distance,  the  ebb  and  flow,  the  light  of 
wonder  and  of  adventure,  too.  "  You  —  you  Ve  been 
everywhere,"  she  went  on.  "Do  you  remember  you 
sent  me  once  from  Malta  a  tiny  silver  cross  ?  That 
was  years  ago,  soon  after  the  Battle  of  Jersey,  when 
I  was  a  little  bit  of  a  girl.  Well,  after  I  got  big 
enough  I  used  to  find  Malta  and  other  places  on 
Maitre  Damian's  globe.  I  've  lived  always  there, 
on  that  spot," — she  pointed  towards  Jersey,  —  "on 
that  spot  one  could  walk  round  in  a  day.  What  do 
I  know  !  You  Ve  been  everywhere,  —  everywhere. 
When  you  look  back  you  've  got  a  thousand  pictures 
in  your  mind.  You  Ve  seen  great  cities,  temples, 
palaces,  great  armies,  fleets ;  you  Ve  done  things  : 
you  Ve  fought  and  you  Ve  commanded,  though  you  're 
so  young,  and  you  Ve  learned  about  men  and  about 
many  countries.  Look  at  what  you  know,  and  then, 
if  you  only  think,  you  '11  laugh  at  what  I  know." 

For  a  moment  he  was  puzzled  what  to  answer. 
The  revelation  of  the  girl's  nature  had  come  so  quickly 
upon  him.  He  had  looked  for  freshness,  sweetness, 
intelligence,  and  warmth  of  temperament,  but  it 
seemed  to  him  that  here  were  flashes  of  power.  Yet 
she  was  only  seventeen.  She  had  been  taught  to 
see  things  with  her  own  eyes  and  not  another's, 
and  she  spoke  of  them  as  she  saw  them, — that  was 
all.  Yet  never  but  to  her  mother  had  Guida  said  so 
much  to  any  human  being  as  within  these  past  few 
moments  to  Philip  d'Avranche. 


88       THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

The  conditions  were  almost  maliciously  favorable, 
and  d'Avranche  was  simple  and  easy  as  a  boy,  with 
his  sailor's  bonhomie  and  his  naturally  facile  spirit. 
A  fateful  adaptability  was  his  greatest  weapon  in  life, 
and  his  greatest  danger.  He  saw  that  Guida  herself 
was  unconscious  of  the  revelation  she  was  making, 
and  he  showed  no  surprise,  but  he  caught  the  note  of 
her  simplicity,  and  responded  in  kind.  He  flattered 
her  deftly,  —  not  that  she  was  pressed  unduly  ;  he 
was  too  wise  for  that.  He  took  her  seriously  ;  and 
this  was  not  all  dissimulation,  for  her  every  word  had 
glamour,  and  he  now  exalted  her  intellect  unduly. 
He  had  never  met  girl  or  woman  who  talked  just  as 
she  did  ;  and  straightway,  with  the  wild  eloquence  of 
his  nature,  he  thought  he  had  discovered  a  new  heaven 
and  a  new  earth.  A  spell  was  upon  him.  He  knew 
what  he  wanted  when  he  saw  it.  He  had  always 
made  up  his  mind  suddenly ;  always  acted  on  the 
intelligent  impulse  of  the  moment.  He  felt  things, 
he  did  not  study  them  ;  it  was  almost  a  woman's 
instinct.  He  came  by  a  leap  to  the  goal  of  purpose, 
not  by  the  toilsome  steps  of  reason.  On  the  instant 
his  headlong  spirit  declared  his  purpose  :  this  was  the 
one  being  for  him  in  all  the  world  :  at  this  altar  he 
would  light  a  lamp  of  devotion,  and  keep  it  burning 
forever. 

"  This  is  my  day,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  I  always 
knew  that  love  would  come  down  on  me  like  a  storm." 
Then,  aloud,  he  said  to  her,  "  I  wish  I  knew  what 
you  know  ;  but  I  can't,  because-  my  mind  is  different, 
my  life  has  been  different.  When  you  go  out  into 
the  world,  and  see  a  great  deal,  and  loosen  a  little  the 
strings  of  your  principles,  and  watch  how  sins  and 
virtues  contradict  themselves,  you  see  things  after  a 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG       89 

while  in  a  kind  of  mist.  But  you,  Guida,  you  see 
them  clearly  because  your  heart  is  clear.  You  never 
make  a  mistake ;  you  are  always  right  because  your 
mind  is  right." 

She  interrupted  him,  a  little  troubled  and  a  good 
deal  amazed  :  "  Oh,  you  must  n't,  must  n't  speak  like 
that.  It 's  not  so.  How  can  one  see  and  learn  unless 
one  sees  and  knows  the  world  ?  Surely  one  can't 
think  wisely  if  one  does  n't  see  widely  ? " 

He  changed  his  tactics  instantly.  The  world,  — 
that  was  the  thing  ?  Well,  then,  she  should  see  the 
world  through  him,  with  him. 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  're  right,"  he  answered.  "  You 
can't  know  things  unless  you  see  widely.  You  must 
see  the  world.  This  island,  what  is  it  ?  I  was  born 
here ;  don't  I  know  ?  It 's  a  foothold  in  the  world, 
but  it 's  no  more  ;  it 's  not  a  field  to  walk  in,  — why, 
it 's  not  even  a  garden !  No,  it 's  the  little  patch  of 
green  we  play  in  in  front  of  a  house,  behind  the  rail- 
ings, before  we  go  out  into  the  world  and  learn  how 
to  live." 

They  had  now  reached  the  highest  point  on  the 
island,  where  a  flagstaff  stood.  Guida  was  looking 
far  beyond  Jersey  to  the  horizon  line.  There  was 
little  haze ;  the  sky  was  inviolably  blue.  Far  off 
against  the  horizon  lay  the  low  black  rocks  of  the 
Minquiers.  They  seemed  to  her,  on  the  instant,  like 
stepping-stones.  Beyond  would  be  other  stepping- 
stones,  and  others  and  others  still  again  ;  and  they 
would  all  mark  the  way  and  lead  to  what  Philip  called 
the  world.  The  world  !  She  felt  a  sudden  little  twist 
of  regret  at  her  heart.  Here  she  was  like  a  cow 
grazing  within  the  circle  of  its  tether, — like  a  lax 
caterpillar  on  its  blade  of  grass.  Yet  it  had  all 


90       THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

seemed  so  good  to  her  in  the  past ;  broken  only  by 
little  bursts  of  wonder  and  wish  concerning  that  out- 
side world. 

"  Do  we  ever  learn  how  to  live  ? "  she  asked. 
"Don't  we  just  go  on  from  one  thing  to  another, 
picking  our  way,  but  never  knowing  quite  what  to  do, 
because  we  don't  know  what 's  ahead  ?  I  believe  we 
never  do  learn  how  to  live,"  she  added,  half  smiling, 
yet  a  little  pensive,  too ;  "  but  I  am  so  very  ignorant, 
and"  — 

She  stopped,  for  suddenly  it  flashed  upon  her :  here 
she  was  baring  her  childish  heart,  —  he  would  think 
it  childish,  she  was  sure  he  would,  —  everything  she 
thought,  to  a  man  she  had  never  known  till  to-day  ! 
No,  no,  she  was  wrong ;  she  had  known  him,  but  it 
was  only  as  Philip,  the  boy  who  had  saved  her  life. 
And  the  Philip  of  her  memory  was  only  a  picture,  not 
a  being ;  something  to  think  about,  not  something  to 
speak  with,  to  whom  she  might  show  her  heart.  She 
flushed  hotly  and  turned  her  shoulder  on  him.  Her 
eyes  followed  a  lizard  creeping  up  the  stones.  As 
long  as  she  lived  she  remembered  that  lizard,  its 
color  changing  in  the  sun.  She  remembered  the  hot 
stones,  and  how  warm  the  flagstaff  was  when  she 
stretched  out  her  hand  to  it  mechanically.  But  the 
swift,  noiseless  lizard  running  in  and  out  of  the  stones, 
it  was  ever  afterwards  like  a  coat-of-arms  upon  the 
shield  of  her  life. 

Philip  came  close  to  her.  At  first  he  spoke  over 
her  shoulder,  then  he  faced  her.  His  words  forced 
her  eyes  up  to  his,  and  he  held  them. 

"Yes,  yes,  we  learn  how  to  live,"  he  said.  "It 's 
only  when  we  travel  alone  that  we  don't  see  before 
us.  I  will  teach  you  how  to  live ;  we  will  learn  the 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG       91 

way  together !  Guida !  Guida !  "  — he  reached  out  his 
hands  towards  her  —  "  don't  start  so  !  Listen  to  me. 
I  feel  for  you  what  I  have  felt  for  no  other  being 
in  -all  my  life.  It  came  upon  me  yesterday  when  I 
saw  you  in  the  window  at  the  Vier  Prison.  I  did  n't 
understand  it.  All  night  I  walked  the  deck  think- 
ing of  you.  To-day  as  soon  as  I  saw  your  face,  as 
soon  as  I  touched  your  hand,  I  knew  what  it  was, 
and"  — 

He  attempted  to  take  her  hand  now.  "Oh,  no, 
no  !  "  She  drew  back  as  if  terrified. 

"  You  need  not  fear  me,"  he  burst  out.  "  For  now 
I  know  that  I  have  but  two  things  to  live  for  :  for  my 
work  "  —  he  pointed  to  the  Narcissus  —  "  and  for  you. 
You  are  frightened  of  me  !  Why,  I  want  to  have  the 
right  to  protect  you,  to  drive  away  all  fear  from  your 
life.  You  shall  be  the  garden  and  I  shall  be  the  wall ; 
you  the  nest  and  I  the  rock ;  you  the  breath  of  life 
and  I  the  body  that  breathes  it.  Guida,  my  Guida,  I 
love  you  ! " 

She  drew  back,  leaning  against  the  stones,  her  eyes 
riveted  upon  his,  and  she  spoke  scarcely  above  a 
whisper. 

"  It  is  not  true  —  it  is  not  true.  You  Ve  known  me 
only  for  one  day  —  only  for  one  hour.  How  can  you 
say  it !  "  There  was  a  tumult  in  her  breast ;  her  eyes 
shone  and  glistened  ;  wonder,  embarrassed  yet  happy 
wonder,  looked  at  him  from  her  face,  which  was 
touched  with  an  appealing,  as  of  the  heart  that  dares 
not  believe  and  yet  must  believe  or  suffer. 

"  Oh,  it  is  madness  ! "  she  added.  "  It  is  not  true ; 
how  can  it  be  true  !  " 

Yet  it  all  had  the  look  of  reality :  the  voice  had 
the  right  ring,  the  face  had  truth,  the  bearing  was 


92   THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

gallant ;  the  force  and  power  of  the  man  overwhelmed 
her. 

She  reached  out  her  hand  tremblingly  as  though  to 
push  him  back.  "  It  cannot  be  true,"  she  said.  "To 
think  —  in  one  day !  " 

"It  is  true,"  he  answered,  "true  as  that  I  stand 
here.  One  day !  It  is  not  one  day.  I  knew  you 
years  ago.  The  seed  was  sown  then,  the  flower 
springs  up  to-day,  that  is  all.  You  think  I  can't  know 
that  it  is  love  I  feel  for  you  ?  It  is  admiration ;  it  is 
faith  ;  it  is  desire,  too  ;  but  it  is  love.  When  you  see 
a  flower  in  a  garden,  do  you  not  know  at  once  if  you 
like  it  or  no  ?  Don't  you  know  the  moment  you  look 
on  a  landscape,  on  a  splendid  building,  whether  it  is 
beautiful  to  you?  If,  then,  with  these  things  one 
knows,  —  these  that  haven't  any  speech,  no  life  like 
yours  or  mine, — how  much  more  when  it  is  a  girl 
with  a  face  like  yours,  when  it  is  a  mind  noble  like 
yours,  when  it  is  a  touch  that  thrills,  and  a  voice  that 
drowns  the  heart  in  music !  Ah,  Guida,  believe  that 
I  speak  the  truth.  I  know,  I  swear,  that  you  are  the 
one  passion,  the  one  love  of  my  life.  All  others  would 
be  as  nothing,  so  long  as  you  live,  and  I  live  to  look 
upon  you,  to  be  beside  you !  " 

"  Beside  me  ! "  she  broke  in,  with  an  incredulous 
irony  fain  to  be  contradicted,  "a  girl  in  a  village,  poor, 
knowing  nothing,  seeing  no  farther  "  —  she  looked  out 
towards  Jersey  —  "  seeing  no  farther  than  the  little 
cottage  in  the  little  country  where  I  was  born  !  " 

"But  you  shall  see  more,"  he  said,  "you  shall  see 
all,  feel  all,  if  you  will  but  listen  to  me.  Don't  deny 
me  what  is  life  and  breathing  and  hope  to  me.  I  '11 
show  you  the  world ;  I  '11  take  you  where  you  may 
see  and  know.  We  will  learn  it  all  together.  I  shall 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   93 

succeed  in  life.  I  shall  go  far.  I  Ve  needed  one  thing 
to  make  me  do  my  best  for  some  one's  sake  beside  my 
own ;  you  will  make  me  do  it  for  your  sake.  Your 
ancestors  were  great  people  in  France ;  and  you  know 
that  mine,  centuries  ago,  were  great  also,  —  that  the 
d'Avranches  were  a  noble  family  in  France.  You 
and  I  will  win  our  place  as  high  as  the  best  of  them. 
In  this  war  that 's  coming  between  England  and 
France  is  my  chance.  Nelson  said  to  me  the  other 
day,  — you  have  heard  of  him,  of  young  Captain  Nel- 
son, the  man  they  're  pointing  to  in  the  fleet  as  the 
one  man  of  them  all  ?  —  he  said  to  me,  '  We  shall  have 
our  chance  now,  d'Avranche.'  And  we  shall.  I  have 
wanted  it  till  to-day  for  my  own  selfish  ambition ; 
now  I  want  it  for  you.  When  I  landed  on  this  islet 
a  half  hour  ago,  I  hated  it,  I  hated  my  ship,  I  hated 
my  duty,  I  hated  everything,  because  I  wanted  to  go 
where  you  were,  to  be  with  you.  It  was  Destiny  that 
brought  us  both  to  this  place  at  one  moment.  You 
can't  escape  Destiny.  It  was  to  be  that  I  should  love 
you,  Guida ! " 

He  reached  out  to  take  her  hands,  but  she  put  them 
behind  her  against  the  stpnes,  and  drew  back.  The 
lizard  suddenly  shot  out  from  a  hole  and  crossed 
over  her  fingers.  She  started,  shivered  at  the  cold 
touch,  and  caught  the  hand  away.  A  sense  of  fore- 
boding awaked  in  her,  and  her  eyes  followed  the  liz- 
ard's swift  travel  with  a  strange  fascination.  But  she 
lifted  them  to  Philip's,  and  the  fear  and  premonition 
passed. 

"  Oh,  my  brain  is  in  a  whirl !  "  she  said.  "  I  do 
not  understand.  I  know  so  little.  No  one  has  ever 
spoken  to  me  as  you  have  done.  You  would  not 
dare  "  —  she  leaned  forward  a  little,  looking  into  his 


94       THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

face  with  that  unwavering  gaze  which  was  the  best 
sign  of  her  straightforward  mind  —  "  you  would  not 
dare  to  deceive  —  you  would  not  dare.  I  have  —  no 
mother,"  she  added  with  simple  pathos. 

The  moisture  came  into  his  eyes.  He  must  have 
been  stone  not  to  be  touched  by  the  appealing,  by  the 
tender  inquisition,  of  that  look. 

"Guida,"  he  said  impetuously,  "if  I  deceive  you, 
may  every  fruit  of  life  turn  to  dust  and  ashes  in  my 
mouth !  If  ever  I  deceive  you,  may  I  die  a  black, 
dishonorable  death,  abandoned  and  alone !  I  should 
deserve  that  if  I  deceived  you,  Guida !  " 

For  the  first  time  since  he  had  spoken  she  smiled, 
yet  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  too. 

"  You  will  let  me  tell  you  that  I  love  you,  Guida  — 
it  is  all  I  ask  now :  that  you  will  listen  to  me  ? " 

She  sighed,  but  did  not  answer.  She  kept  looking 
at  him,  looking  as  though  she  would  read  his  inmost 
soul.  Her  face  was  very  young,  though  the  eyes 
were  so  wise  in  their  simplicity. 

"  You  will  give  me  my  chance  —  you  will  listen  to 
me,  Guida,  and  try  to  understand  —  and  be  glad  ?  " 
he  said,  leaning  closer  to  her  and  holding  out  his 
hands. 

She  drew  herself  up  slightly  as  with  an  air  of  relief 
and  resolve.  She  put  a  hand  in  his. 

"  I  will  try  to  understand  —  and  be  glad,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"  Won't  you  call  me  Philip  ? "  he  said. 

The  same  slight,  mischievous  smile  crossed  her  lips 
now  as  eleven  years  ago  in  the  Rue  d'Egypte,  and, 
recalling  that  moment,  she  replied,  — 

"Yes,  sir  — Philip!" 

At  that  instant  the  figure  of  a  man  appeared  on  the 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   95 

shingle  beneath,  looking  up  towards  them.  They  did 
not  see  him.  Guida's  hand  was  still  in  Philip's. 

The  man  looked  at  them  for  a  moment,  then  started 
and  turned  away.  It  was  Ranulph  Delagarde. 

They  heard  his  feet  upon  the  shingle  now.  They 
turned  and  looked,  and  Guida  withdrew  her  hand. 


CHAPTER   XI 

THERE  are  moments  when  a  kind  of  curtain  seems 
dropped  over  the  brain,  covering  it,  smothering 
it,  while  yet  the  body  and  its  nerves  are  tingling  with 
sensation.  It  is  like  the  fire-curtain  of  a  theatre  let 
down  between  the  stage  and  the  audience,  a  merciful 
intervention  between  the  mind  and  the  disaster  which 
would  consume  it. 

As  the  years  had  gone  on  Maitre  Ranulph's  nature 
had  grown  more  powerful,  and  his  out-door  occupation 
had  enlarged  and  steadied  his  physical  forces.  His 
trouble  now  was  in  proportion  to  the  force  of  his  char- 
acter. The  sight  of  Guida  and  Philip  hand  in  hand, 
the  tender  attitude,  the  light  in  their  faces,  was  over- 
whelming and  unaccountable.  Yesterday  these  two 
were  strangers ;  to-day  it  was  plain  to  be  seen  they 
were  lovers,  and  lovers  who  had  reached  a  point  of 
confidence  and  revelation.  Nothing  in  the  situation 
tallied  with  Ranulph's  ideas  of  Guida  and  his  know- 
ledge of  life.  He  had,  as  one  might  say,  been  eye  to 
eye  with  this  girl  for  fifteen  years :  he  had  told  his 
love  for  her  in  a  thousand  little  ways,  as  the  ant  builds 
its  heap  to  a  pyramid  that  becomes  a  thousand  times 
greater  than  itself.  He  had  followed  her  footsteps, 
he  had  fetched  and  carried,  he  had  served  afar  off,  he 
had  ministered  within  the  gates.  He  had,  unknown 
to  her,  watched  like  the  keeper  of  the  house  over  ajl 
who  came  and  went,  neither  envious  nor  over-zealous, 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG       97 

neither  intrusive  nor  neglectful ;  leaving  here  a  word 
and  there  an  act  to  prove  himself,  above  all,  the  friend 
whom  she  could  trust,  and,  in  all,  the  lover  whom  she 
might  wake  to  know  and  reward.  He  had  waited  with 
patience,  hoping  stubbornly  that  she  might  come  to 
put  her  hand  in  his  one  day. 

Long  ago  he  would  have  left  the  island  to  widen 
his  knowledge,  earn  experience  in  his  craft,  or  follow 
a  career  in  the  army  —  he  had  been  an  expert  gunner 
when  he  served  in  the  artillery  four  years  ago  —  and 
hammer  out  fame  upon  the  anvils  of  fortune  in  Eng- 
land or  in  France ;  but  he  had  stayed  here  that  he 
might  be  near  her.  His  love  had  been  simple,  it  had 
been  direct,  and  wise  in  its  consistent  reserve.  He 
had  been  self -obliterating.  His  love  desired  only  to 
make  her  happy :  most  lovers  desire  that  they  them- 
selves shall  be  made  happy.  Because  of  the  crime 
his  father  committed  years  ago  —  because  of  the 
shame  of  that  hidden  crime  —  he  had  tried  the  more 
to  make  himself  a  good  citizen,  and  had  formed  the 
modest  ambition  of  making  one  human  being  happy. 
Always  keeping  this  near  him  in  past  years,  a  supreme 
cheerfulness  of  heart  had  welled  up  out  of  his  early 
sufferings  and  his  innate  honesty.  Hope  had  beck- 
oned him  on  from  year  to  year,  until  it  seemed  at  last 
that  the  time  had  almost  come  when  he  might  speak, 
might  tell  her  all,  —  his  father's  crime  and  the  manner 
of  his  father's  death  ;  of  his  own  devoted  purpose 
in  trying  to  expiate  that  crime  by  his  own  upright- 
ness ;  and  of  his  love  for  her. 

Now,  all  in  a  minute,  his  horizon  was  blackened. 
This  adventurous  gallant,  this  squire  of  dames,  had 
done  in  a  day  what  he  had  worked,  step  by  step,  to  do 
through  all  these  years.  This  skipping  seafarer,  with 


98       THE  BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

his  powder  and  lace,  his  cocked  hat  and  gold-handled 
sword,  had  whistled  at  the  gates  which  he  had 
guarded  and  by  which  he  had  prayed,  and  all  in  a 
minute  every  defense  had  been  thrown  down,  and 
Guida  —  his  own  Guida  —  had  welcomed  the  invader 
with  shameless  eagerness. 

He  crossed  the  islet  slowly.  It  seemed  to  him  — 
and  for  a  moment  it  was  the  only  thing  of  which  he 
was  conscious  —  that  the  heels  of  his  boots  shrieked 
in  the  shingle,  and  with  every  step  he  was  raising  an 
immense  weight.  He  paused  behind  the  chapel. 
After  a  little  the  smother  lifted  slowly  from  his 
brain. 

"  I  '11  believe  in  her  still,"  he  said  aloud.  "  It 's  all 
his  cursed  tongue.  As  a  boy  he  could  make  every 
other  boy  do  what  he  wanted  because  his  tongue 
knows  how  to  twist  words.  She 's  been  used  to 
honest  people  ;  he  's  talked  a  new  language  to  her  — 
tricks  caught  in  his  travels.  But  she  shall  know 
the  truth.  She  shall  find  out  what  sort  of  a  man 
he  is.  I  '11  make  her  see  under  his  pretty  foolings." 

He  turned,  and  leaned  against  the  wall  of  the 
chapel.  "  Guida,  Guida,"  he  said,  speaking  as  if  she 
were  there  before  him,  "  you  won't  —  you  won't  go 
to  him,  and  spoil  your  life,  and  mine  too  !  Guida, 
ma  couzaine,  you  '11  stay  here,  in  the  land  of  your 
birth.  You  '11  make  your  home  here  —  here  with  me, 
ma  chere  couzaine.  Ah,  but  then  you  shall  be  my 
wife  in  spite  of  him,  in  spite  of  a  thousand  Philip 
d'Avranches ! " 

He  drew  himself  up  firmly,  for  a  great  resolve  was 
made.  His  path  was  clear.  It  was  a  fair  fight,  he 
thought ;  the  odds  were  not  so  much  against  him 
after  all,  for  his  birth  was  as  good  as  Philip 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG       99 

d'Avranche's,  his  energy  was  greater,  and  he  was  as 
capable  and  as  clever  in  his  own  way. 

He  walked  quickly  down  the  shingle  towards  the 
wreck  on  the  other  side  of  the  islet.  As  he  passed 
the  hut  where  the  sick  man  lay,  he  heard  a  querulous 
voice.  It  was  not  that  of  the  Reverend  Lorenzo 
Dow. 

Where  had  he  heard  that  voice  before  ?  A  shiver 
of  fear  ran  through  him.  Every  sense  and  emotion 
in  him  was  arrested.  His  life  seemed  to  reel  back- 
ward. Curtain  after  curtain  of  the  past  unfolded. 

He  hurried  to  the  door  of  the  hut  and  looked  in. 

A  man  with  long  white  hair  and  straggling  gray 
beard  turned  to  him  a  haggard  face,  on  which  were 
written  suffering,  outlawry,  and  evil. 

"  Great  God !  my  father !  "  Ranulph  said. 

He  drew  back  slowly  like  a  man  who  gazes  upon 
some  horrible  fascinating  thing,  and  then  turned 
heavily  towards  the  sea,  his  face  set,  his  senses  par- 
alyzed. 

"  My  father  not  dead !  My  father  —  the  traitor !  " 
he  groaned. 


CHAPTER    XII 

T)HILIP  D'AVRANCHE  sauntered  slowly 
JT  through  the  Vier  Marchi,  nodding  right  and 
left  to  people  who  greeted  him.  It  was  Saturday, 
and  market  day  in  Jersey.  The  square  was  crowded 
with  people.  All  was  a  cheerful  babel  ;  there  was 
movement,  color  everywhere.  Here  were  the  high 
and  the  humble,  hardi  vlon  and  hardi  biaou  —  the 
ugly  and  the  beautiful,  the  dwarfed  and  the  tall, 
the  dandy  and  the  dowdy,  the  miser  and  the  spend- 
thrift ;  young  ladies  gay  in  silks,  laces,  and  scarves 
from  Spain,  and  gentlemen  with  powdered  wigs  from 
Paris  ;  sailors  with  red  tunics  from  the  Mediterranean, 
and  fishermen  with  blue  and  purple  blouses  from  Bra- 
zil ;  man-o'-war's  men  with  Greek  petticoats,  Turkish 
fezzes  and  Portuguese  espadras.  Jersey  housewives, 
in  bedgones  and  white  caps,  with  molleton  dresses 
rolled  up  to  the  knees,  pushed  their  way  through  the 
crowd,  jars  of  black  butter  or  jugs  of  cinnamon 
brandy  on  their  heads.  From  La  Pyramide  —  the 
hospitable  base  of  the  statue  of  King  George  II.  — 
fishwives  called  the  merits  of  their  conger-eels  and 
ormers ;  and  the  clatter  of  a  thousand  sabots  made 
the  Vier  Marchi  sound  like  a  shipbuilder's  yard. 

In  this  square  Philip  had  loitered  and  played  as  a 
child.  Down  there,  leaning  against  a  pillar  of  the 
Corn  Market  piazza,  was  Elie  Mattingley,  the  grizzly- 
haired  seller  of  foreign  silks  and  droll  odds  and  ends, 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  101 

who  had  given  him  a  silver  flageolet  when  he  was  a 
little  lad.  There  were  the  same  swaggering  manners, 
the  big  gold  rings  in  his  ears  ;  there  was  the  same  red 
sash  about  the  waist,  the  loose  unbuttoned  shirt,  the 
truculent  knife-belt ;  there  were  the  same  keen  brown 
eyes  looking  you  through  and  through,  and  the  mouth 
with  a  middle  tooth  in  each  jaw  gone.  Elie  Matting- 
ley,  pirate,  smuggler,  and  sometime  master  of  a  pri- 
vateer, had  had  dealings  with  people  high  and  low  in 
the  island,  and  they  had  not  always,  nor  often,  been 
conducted  in  the  open  Vier  Marchi. 

Fifteen  years  ago  he  used  to  have  his  little  daugh- 
ter Carterette  always  beside  him  when  he  sold  his 
wares.  Philip  wondered  what  had  become  of  her. 
He  glanced  round.  .  .  .  Ah !  there  she  was,  not  far 
from  her  father,  over  in  front  of  the  guard-house,  sell- 
ing, at  a  little  counter  with  a  canopy  of  yellow  silk 
(brought  by  her  father  from  that  distant  land  called 
Piracy),  mogues  of  hot  soupe  a  la  graisse,  simnels, 
curds,  coffee,  and  Jersey  wonders,  which  last  she  made 
on  the  spot  by  dipping  the  little  rings  of  dough  in  a 
bashin  of  lard  on  a  charcoal  fire  at  her  side. 

Carterette  was  short  and  spare,  with  soft  yet  snap- 
ping eyes  as  black  as  night  —  or  her  hair  ;  with  a  warm, 
dusky  skin,  a  tongue  which  clattered  pleasantly,  and 
very  often  wisely.  She  had  a  hand  as  small  and  plump 
as  a  baby's  and  a  pretty  foot  which,  to  the  disgust  of 
some  mothers  and  maidens  of  greater  degree,  was 
encased  in  a  red  French  slipper,  instead  of  the  wooden 
sabot  stuffed  with  straw,  while  her  ankles  were  nicely 
dressed  in  soft  black  stockings,  in  place  of  the  woolen 
native  hose,  as  became  her  station. 

Philip  watched  Carterette  now  for  a  moment,  a  dozen 
laughing  memories  coming  back  to  him ;  for  he  had 


102  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

teased  her  and  played  with  her  when  she  was  a  child, 
had  even  called  her  his  little  sweetheart.  Looking  at 
her  he  wondered  what  her  fate  would  be.  To  marry 
one  of  these  fishermen  or  carters  ?  No,  she  would 
look  beyond  that.  Perhaps  it  would  be  one  of  those 
adventurers  in  bearskin  cap  and  buckskin  vest,  home 
from  Gaspe,  where  they  had  toiled  in  the  great  fisher- 
ies, some  as  common  fishermen,  some  as  mates,  and 
maybe  one  or  two  as  masters.  No,  she  would  look 
beyond  that.  Perhaps  she  would  be  carried  off  by 
one  of  those  well-to-do,  black-bearded  young  farmers 
in  the  red  knitted  queminzolle,  blue  breeches  and 
black  cocked  hat,  with  his  kegs  of  cider  and  bunches 
of  parsley. 

That  was  more  likely,  for  among  the  people  there 
was  every  prejudice  in  her  favor.  She  was  Jersey 
born,  her  father  was  reputed  to  have  laid  by  a  goodly 
sum  of  money  —  not  all  got  in  this  Vier  Marchi;  and 
that  he  was  a  smuggler  and  pirate  roused  a  sentiment 
in  their  bosoms  nearer  to  envy  than  aught  else.  Go 
away  naked  and  come  back  clothed,  empty  and  come 
back  filled,  simple  and  come  back  with  a  wink  of 
knowledge,  penniless  and  come  back  with  the  price  of 
numerous  verge" es  of  land,  and  you  might  answer  the 
Island  catechism  without  fear.  Be  lambs  in  Jersey, 
but  harry  the  rest  of  the  world  with  a  lion's  tooth, 
was  the  eleventh  commandment  in  the  Vier  Marchi. 

Yes,  thought  Philip  idly  now,  as  he  left  the  square, 
the  girl  would  probably  marry  a  rich  farmer,  and  when 
he  came  again  he  should  find  her  stout  of  body,  and 
maybe  shrewish  of  face,  crying  up  the  virtues  of  her 
black  butter  and  her  knitted  stockings,  having  made 
the  yellow  silk  canopy  above  her  there  into  a  gorgeous 
quilt  for  the  nuptial  bed. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     103 

Yet  the  young  farmers  who  hovered  near  her  now, 
buying  a  glass  of  cider  or  a  mogue  of  soup,  received 
but  scant  notice.  She  laughed  with  them,  treated 
them  lightly,  and  went  about  her  business  again  with 
a  toss  of  the  head.  Not  once  did  she  show  a  moment's 
real  interest,  not  until  a  fine  upstanding  fellow  came 
round  the  corner  from  the  Rue  des  Vignes,  and  passed 
her  booth. 

She  was  dipping  a  doughnut  into  the  boiling  lard, 
but  she  paused  with  it  suspended.  The  little  dark 
face  took  on  a  warm  glow,  the  eyes  glistened. 

"Maitre  Ranulph ! "  called  the  girl  softly.  Then 
as  the  tall  fellow  turned  to  her  and  lifted  his  cap  she 
added  briskly,  "  Where  away  so  fast  with  face  hard 
as  hatchet  ? " 

"  Gargon  Cart'rette ! "  he  said  abstractedly,  —  he  had 
always  called  her  that. 

He  was  about  to  move  on.  She  frowned  in  vexa- 
tion, yet  she  saw  that  he  was  pale  and  heavy-eyed, 
and  she  beckoned  him  to  come  to  her. 

"  What 's  gone  wrong,  big  wood-worm  ?  "  she  said, 
eying  him  closely,  and  striving  anxiously  to  read  his 
face.  He  looked  at  her  sharply,  but  the  softness  in 
her  black  eyes  somehow  reassured  him,  and  he  said 
quite  kindly,  — 

"  Nannin,  'tite  garc_on,  nothing 's  matter." 

"  I  thought  you  'd  be  blithe  as  a  sparrow  with  your 
father  back  from  the  grave  !  "  Then  as  Ranulph's 
face  seemed  to  darken,  she  added,  "  He 's  not  worse 
—  he  's  not  worse  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  he 's  well  enough  now,"  he  said,  forcing 
a  smile. 

She  was  not  satisfied,  but  she  went  on  talking, 
intent  to  find  the  cause  of  his  abstraction.  "  Only  to 


104  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

think,"  she  said  —  "  only  to  think  that  he  was  n't  killed 
at  all  at  the  Battle  of  Jersey,  and  was  a  prisoner  in 
France,  and  comes  back  here,  —  and  we  all  thought 
him  dead,  did  n't  we  ?  " 

"  I  left  him  for  dead  that  morning  on  the  Grouville 
road,"  he  answered.  Then,  as  if  with  a  great  effort, 
.and  after  the  manner  of  one  who  has  learned  a  part, 
he  went  on  :  "  As  the  French  ran  away  mad,  paw  of 
one  on  tail  of  other,  they  found  him  trying  to  drag 
himself  along.  They  nabbed  him,  and  carried  him 
aboard  their  boats  to  pilot  them  out  from  the  Rocque 
Platte,  and  over  to  France.  Then  because  they  had  n't 
gobbled  us  up  here,  what  did  the  French  Gover'ment 
do?  They  clapped  a  lot  of  'em  in  irons  and  sent 
'em  away  to  South  America,  and  my  father  with  'em. 
That 's  why  we  heard  neither  click  nor  clack  of  him 
all  this  time.  He  broke  free  a  year  ago.  Then  he 
fell  sick.  When  he  got  well  he  set  sail  for  Jersey, 
was  wrecked  off  the  Ecrehos,  and  everybody  knows 
the  rest.  Diantre  !  he  's  had  a  hard  time,  my  father." 

The  girl  had  listened  intently.  She  had  heard  all 
these  things  in  flying  rumors,  and  she  had  believed 
the  rumors  ;  but  now  that  Maitre  Ranulph  told  her  — 
Ranulph,  whose  word  she  would  have  taken  quicker 
than  the  oath  of  a  Jurat  —  she  doubted.  With  the 
doubt  her  face  flushed  as  though  she  herself  had  been 
caught  in  a  lie,  had  done  a  mean  thing.  Somehow  her 
heart  was  aching  for  him,  she  knew  not  why. 

All  this  time  she  had  held  the  doughnut  poised  ; 
she  seemed  to  have  forgotten  her  work.  Suddenly 
the  wooden  fork  holding  the  cake  was  taken  from 
her  fingers  by  the  daft  Dormy  Jamais  who  had  crept 
near. 

"  Des  monz  a  f ou,"  said  he,  "  to  spoil  good  eating 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  105 

so !  What  says  fishing-man  —  When  sails  flap,  owner 
may  whistle  for  cargo.  Tut,  tut,  goose  Cart'rette  !  " 

Carterette  took  no  note,  but  said  to  Ranulph  :  — 

"  Of  course  he  had  to  pilot  the  Frenchmen  back, 
or  they  'd  have  killed  him,  and  it  'd  done  no  good  to 
refuse.  He  was  the  first  man  that  fought  the  French 
on  the  day  of  the  battle,  was  n't  he  ?  I  Ve  always 
heard  that." 

Unconsciously  she  was  building  up  a  defense  for 
Olivier  Delagarde.  She  was,  as  it  were,  anticipating 
insinuation  from  other  quarters.  She  was  playing 
Ranulph' s  game,  because  she  instinctively  felt  that 
behind  this  story  there  was  gloom  in  his  mind  and 
mystery  in  the  tale  itself.  She  noticed,  too,  that  he 
shrank  from  her  words.  She  was  not  very  quick  of 
intellect,  so  she  had  to  feel  her  way  fumblingly.  She 
must  have  time  to  think,  but  she  said  tentatively,  — 

"  I  suppose  it 's  no  secret  ?  I  can  tell  any  one  at 
all  what  happened  to  your  father  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Oh  so  —  sure  so  !  "  he  said  rather  eagerly.  "  Tell 
every  one  about  it.  He  does  n't  mind." 

Maitre  Ranulph  deceived  but  badly.  Bold  and  con- 
vincing in  all  honest  things,  he  was,  as  yet,  unconvin- 
cing in  this  grave  deception.  All  these  years  he 
had  kept  silence,  enduring  what  he  thought  a  buried 
shame ;  but  that  shame  had  risen  from  the  dead,  a 
living  agony.  His  father  had  betrayed  the  Island  to 
the  French.  If  the  truth  were  known  to-day  they 
would  hang  him  for  a  traitor  on  the  Mont  es  Pendus. 
No  mercy  and  scant  shrift  would  be  shown  him. 

Whatever  came,  he  must  drink  this  bitter  cup  to 
the  dregs.  He  could  never  betray  his  own  father. 
He  must  consume  with  inward  disgust  while  Olivier 
Delagarde  shamelessly  babbled  his  monstrous  lies  to 


106  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

all  who  would  listen.  And  he  must  tell  these  lies,  too, 
conceal,  deceive,  and  live  in  hourly  fear  of  discovery. 
He  must  sit  opposite  his  father  day  by  day  at  table, 
talk  with  him,  care  for  him,  shrinking  inwardly  at 
every  knock  at  the  door  lest  it  should  be  an  officer 
come  to  carry  the  pitiful  traitor  off  to  prison. 

And,  more  than  all,  he  must  give  up  forever  the 
thought  of  Guida.  Here  was  the  acid  that  ate  home, 
the  black  hopelessness,  the  machine  of  fate  clamping 
his  heart.  Never  again  could  he  rise  in  the  morning 
with  a  song  on  his  lips  ;  never  again  his  happy  medi- 
tations go  lilting  with  the  clanging  blows  of  the  adze 
and  the  singing  of  the  saws. 

All  these  things  had  vanished  when  he  looked  into 
a  tent  door  on  the  Ecrehos.  Now,  in  spite  of  him- 
self, whenever  he  thought  upon  Guida's  face,  this 
other  fateful  figure,  this  Medusan  head  of  a  traitor, 
shot  in  between. 

Since  his  return  his  father  had  not  been  strong 
enough  to  go  abroad ;  but  to-day  he  meant  to  walk 
to  the  Vier  Marchi.  At  first  Ranulph  had  decided 
to  go  as  usual  to  his  shipyard  at  St.  Aubin's,  but  at 
last  in  anxious  fear  he,  too,  had  come  to  the  Vier 
Marchi.  There  was  a  horrible  fascination  in  being 
where  his  father  was,  in  listening  to  his  falsehoods,  in 
watching  the  turns  and  twists  of  his  gross  hypocrisies. 

But  yet  at  times  he  was  moved  by  a  strange  pity, 
for  Olivier  Delagarde  was,  in  truth,  far  older  than 
his  years :  a  thin,  shuffling,  pallid  invalid,  with  a  face 
of  mingled  sanctity  and  viciousness.  If  the  old  man 
lied,  and  had  not  been  in  prison  all  these  years,  he 
must  have  had  misery  far  worse,  for  neither  vice  nor 
poverty  alone  could  so  shatter  a  human  being.  The 
son's  pity  seemed  to  look  down  from  a  great  height 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  107 

upon  the  contemptible  figure  with  the  beautiful  white 
hair  and  the  abominable  mouth.  This  compassion 
kept  him  from  becoming  hard,  but  it  would  also  pre- 
serve him  to  hourly  sacrifice,  —  Prometheus  chained 
to  his  rock.  In  the  short  fortnight  that  had  gone 
since  the  day  upon  the  Ecrehos,  he  had  changed  as 
much  as  do  most  people  in  ten  years.  Since  then  he 
had  seen  neither  Philip  nor  Guida. 

To  Carterette  he  seemed  not  the  man  she  had 
known.  With  her  woman's  instinct  she  knew  that 
he  loved  Guida,  but  she  also  knew  that  nothing  which 
might  have  happened  between  them  could  have 
brought  this  look  of  shame  and  shrinking  into  his 
face.  As  these  thoughts  flashed  through  her  mind 
her  heart  grew  warmer.  Suppose  Ranulph  was  in 
some  trouble,  —  well,  now  might  be  her  great  chance ! 
She  might  show  him  that  he  could  not  live  without 
her  friendship,  and  then  perhaps,  by  and  by,  that  he 
could  not  live  without  her  love. 

Ranulph  was  about  to  move  on.     She  stopped  him. 

"  When  you  need  me,  Maitre  Ranulph,  you  know 
where  to  find  me,"  she  said  scarce  above  a  whisper. 

He  looked  at  her  sharply,  almost  fiercely,  but  again 
the  tenderness  of  her  eyes,  the  directness  of  her  gaze, 
convinced  him.  She  might  be,  as  she  was,  variable 
with  other  people  ;  with  himself  she  was  invincibly 
straightforward. 

"  P'raps  you  don't  trust  me  ? "  she  added,  for  she 
read  his  changing  expression. 

"  Oh,  I  'd  trust  you  quick  enough  !  "  he  said. 

"  Then  do  it  now,  —  you  're  having  some  bad  trou- 
ble," she  rejoined. 

He  leaned  over  her  stall  and  said  to  her  steadily 
and  with  a  little  moroseness  :  — 


io8  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

"  See  you,  ma  garche,  if  I  was  in  trouble  I  'd  bear 
it  by  myself.  I  'd  ask  no  one  to  help  me  ;  I  'm  a 
man,  and  I  can  stand  alone.  Don't  go  telling,  folks  I 
look  as  if  I  was  in  trouble.  I  'm  going  to  launch  to- 
morrow the  biggest  ship  ever  sent  from  a  Jersey  build- 
ing yard,  —  that  does  n't  look  like  trouble,  does  it  ? 
Turn  about  is  fair  play,  Gargon  Cart'rette  :  so  when 
you  're  in  trouble  come  to  me.  You  're  not  a  man, 
and  it 's  a  man's  place  to  help  a  woman,  all  the  more 
when  she  's  a  fine  and  good  little  stand-by  like  you." 

He  forced  a  smile,  turned  upon  his  heel,  and 
threaded  his  way  through  the  square,  keeping  a  look- 
out for  his  father.  This  he  could  do  easily,  for  he 
was  the  tallest  man  in  the  Vier  Marchi  by  at  least 
three  inches. 

Carterette,  oblivious  of  all  else,  stood  gazing  after 
him.  She  was  only  recalled  to  herself  by  Dormy 
Jamais.  He  was  diligently  cooking  her  Jersey  won- 
ders, now  and  then  turning  his  eyes  up  at  her,  —  eyes 
which  were  like  spots  of  grayish,  yellowish  light  in  a 
face  of  putty  and  flour  ;  without  eyelashes,  without 
eyebrows,  a  little  like  a  fish's,  something  like  a  mon- 
key's. They  were  never  still.  They  were  set  in  the 
face  like  little  round  glowworms  in  a  mold  of  clay. 
They  burned  on  night  and  day,  —  no  man  had  ever 
seen  Dormy  Jamais  asleep. 

Carterette  did  not  resent  his  officiousness.  He 
had  a  kind  of  kennel  in  her  father's  boat-house,  and 
he  was  devoted  to  her.  More  than  all  else,  Dormy 
Jamais  was  clean.  His  clothes  were  mostly  rags,  but 
they  were  comely,  compact  rags.  When  he  washed 
them  no  one  seemed  to  know,  but  no  languid  young 
gentleman  lounging  where  the  sun  was  warmest  in 
the  Vier  Marchi  was  better  laundered. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG      109 

As  Carterette  turned  round  to  him  he  was  twirling 
a  cake  on  the  wooden  fork,  and  trolling  :  — 

"  Caderoussel  he  has  a  coat, 

All  lined  with  paper  brown  ; 
And  only  when  it  freezes  hard 

He  wears  it  in  the  town. 
What  do  you  think  of  Caderoussel  ? 

Ah,  then,  but  list  to  me : 
Caderoussel  is  a  bon  e'fant  "  — 

"  Come,  come,  dirty  fingers  !  "  she  said.  "  Leave 
my  work  alone,  and  stop  your  chatter." 

The  daft  one  held  up  his  fingers,  but  to  do  so  had 
to  thrust  a  cake  into  his  mouth. 

"  They  're  as  clean  as  a  ha'pendy,"  he  said,  mum- 
bling through  the  cake.  Then  he  emptied  his  mouth 
of  it,  and  was  about  to  place  it  with  the  others. 

"  Black  beganne,"  she  cried,  "  how  dare  you  !  Via 
—  into  your  pocket  with  it  !" 

He  did  as  he  was  bid,  humming  to  himself 
again  :  — 

"  M'sieu'  de  la  Palisse  is  dead, 

Dead  of  a  maladie  ; 
Quart'  of  an  hour  before  his  death 
He  could  breathe  like  you  and  me ! 
Ah  bah,  the  poor  M'sieu' 
De  la  Palisse  is  dead  !  " 

"  Shut  up  !  Man  doux  d'la  vie,  you  chatter  like  a 
monkey ! " 

"  That  poor  Maitre  Ranulph  !  "  said  Dormy.  "  Once 
he  was  lively  as  a  basket  of  mice ;  but  now  "  — 

"Well,  now,  achocre!"  she  said  irritably,  stamping 
her  foot. 

"  Now  the  cat 's  out  of  the  bag  —  oui-gia !  " 

"  You  're  as  cunning  as  a  Norman  —  you  've  got 
things  in  your  noddle  !  "  she  cried  with  angry  im- 
patience. 


i io     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

He  nodded,  grinning.  "  As  thick  as  haws,"  he  an- 
swered. 

She  heard  behind  her  a  laugh  of  foolish  good-nature, 
which  made  her  angry  too,  for  it  seemed  to  be  making 
fun  of  her.  She  wheeled  to  see  M.  Savary  dit  Detri- 
cand  leaning  with  both  elbows  on  the  little  counter, 
his  chin  in  his  hand,  grinning  provokingly. 

"  Oh,  it 's  you  !  "  she  said  snappishly ;  "  I  hope 
you  're  pleased." 

"  Don't  be  cross,"  he  answered,  his  head  swinging 
unsteadily.  "  I  was  n't  laughing  at  you,  heaven-born 
Jersienne !  I  was  n't,  'pon  honor  !  I  was  laughing 
at  a  thing  I  saw  five  minutes  ago."  He  nodded  in 
gurgling  enjoyment  now.  "You  mustn't  mind  me, 
seraphine,"  he  added  ;  "  I  'd  a  hot  night,  and  I  'm  warm 
as  a  thrush  now.  But  I  saw  a  thing  five  minutes 
ago  !  "  —he  rolled  on  the  stall.  "  'Sh  !  "  he  said  in  a 
loud  mock  whisper,  "  here  he  comes  now.  Millcs 
diables  !  but  here  's  a  tongue  for  you,  and  here  's  a 
royal  gentleman  speaking  truth  like  a  traveling  den- 
tist ! " 

Carterette  followed  his  gesture  and  saw  coming  out 
of  the  Route  es  Couchons,  where  the  brave  Peirson 
issued  to  his  death  eleven  years  before,  Maitre  Ra- 
nulph's  father. 

He  walked  with  the  air  of  a  man  courting  observa- 
tion. He  imagined  himself  a  hero  ;  he  had  told  his 
lie  so  many  times  now  that  he  almost  believed  it  him- 
self. 

He  was  soon  surrounded.  Disliked  when  he  lived 
in  Jersey  before  the  invasion  years  ago,  that  seemed 
forgotten  now,  for  word  had  gone  abroad  that  he  was 
a  patriot  raised  from  the  dead,  an  honor  to  his  country. 
Many  pressed  forward  to  shake  hands  with  him. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  in 

"  Help  of  Heaven,  is  that  you,  m'sieu'  ? "  said  one. 

"You  owed  me  five  chelins,  but  I  wiped  it  out,  O 
my  good  !  "  cried  another  generously. 

"  Shakez,"  cried  a  tall  carter  holding  out  his  hand. 
He  had  lived  in  England,  and  now  easily  made  Eng- 
lish verbs  into  French. 

One  after  another  called  on  him  to  tell  his  story ; 
some  tried  to  hurry  him  to  La  Pyramide,  but  others 
placed  a  cider-keg  near,  and  almost  lifted  him  on  to  it. 

"  Go  on,  go  on,  tell  us  the  story ! "  they  cried. 
"  To  the  devil  with  the  Frenchies  !  " 

"  Here  —  here 's  a  dish  of  Adam's  ale,"  cried  an  old 
woman,  handing  him  a  bowl  of  water. 

They  cheered  him  lustily.  The  pallor  of  his  face 
changed  to  a  warmth.  He  had  the  fatuousness  of 
those  who  deceive  with  impunity.  With  confidence 
he  unreeled  the  dark  line  out  to  the  end.  When  he 
had  told  his  story,  still  hungry  for  applause,  he  re- 
peated the  account  of  how  the  tatterdemalion  brigade 
of  Frenchmen  came  down  upon  him  out  of  the  night, 
and  how  he  should  have  killed  Rullecour  himself  had 
it  not  been  for  an  officer  who  struck  him  down  from 
behind. 

During  the  recital  Ranulph  had  drawn  near.  He 
watched  the  enthusiasm  with  which  the  crowd  re- 
ceived every  little  detail  of  the  egregious  history. 
Everybody  believed  the  old  man,  who  was  safe,  no 
matter  what  happened  to  himself,  Ranulph  Delagarde, 
ex-artilleryman,  shipbuilder  —  and  son  of  a  criminal. 
At  any  rate,  the  worst  was  over  now,  the  first  public 
statement  of  the  lifelong  lie.  He  drew  a  sigh  of  relief 
and  misery  in  one. 

At  that  instant  he  caught  sight  of  the  flushed  face 
of  Detricand,  who  broke  into  a  laugh  of  tipsy  mirth 


ii2  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

when  Olivier  Delagarde  told  how  the  French  officer 
had  stricken  him  down  as  he  was  about  finishing  off 
Rullecour. 

All  at  once  the  whole  thing  rushed  upon  Ranulph. 
What  a  fool  he  had  been !  He  had  met  this  officer 
of  Rullecour's  these  ten  years  past,  and  never  once 
had  the  Frenchman,  by  so  much  as  a  hint,  suggested 
that  he  knew  the  truth  about  his  father.  Here  and 
now  the  contemptuous  mirth  upon  the  Frenchman's 
face  told  the  whole  story.  The  danger  and  horror  of 
the  situation  descended  on  him.  Instantly  he  started 
towards  Detricand. 

At  that  moment  his  father  caught  sight  of  Detri- 
cand also,  saw  the  laugh,  the  sneer,  and  recognized 
him.  Halting  short  in  his  speech,  he  turned  pale 
and  trembled,  staring  as  at  a  ghost.  He  had  never 
counted  on  this.  His  breath  almost  stopped  as  he 
saw  Ranulph  approach  Detricand. 

Now  the  end  was  come.  His  fabric  of  lies  would 
be  torn  down  ;  he  would  be  tried  and  hanged  on  the 
Mont  es  Pendus,  or  even  be  torn  to  pieces  by  this 
crowd.  Yet  he  could  not  have  moved  a  foot  from 
where  he  was  if  he  had  been  given  a  million  pounds. 

The  sight  of  Ranulph's  face  revealed  to  Detricand 
the  true  meaning  of  this  farce  and  how  easily  it  might 
become  a  tragedy.  He  read  the  story  of  the  son's 
torture,  of  his  sacrifice ;  and  his  decision  was  instantly 
made  :  he  would  befriend  him.  Looking  straight  into 
his  eyes,  his  own  said  he  had  resolved  to  know  no- 
thing whatever  about  this  criminal  on  the  cider-cask. 
The  two  men  telegraphed  to  each  other  a  perfect  un- 
derstanding, and  then  Detricand  turned  on  his  heel, 
and  walked  away  into  the  crowd. 

The  sudden  change  in  the  old  man's  appearance 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG      113 

had  not  been  lost  on  the  spectators,  but  they  set  it 
down  to  weakness  or  a  sudden  sickness.  One  ran 
for  a  glass  of  brandy,  another  for  cider,  and  an  old 
woman  handed  up  to  him  a  mogue  of  cinnamon 
drops. 

The  old  man  tremblingly  drank  the  brandy.  When 
he  looked  again  Detricand  had  disappeared.  A  dark, 
sinister  expression  crossed  his  face,  an  evil  thought 
pulled  down  the  corners  of  his  mouth  as  he  stepped 
from  the  cask.  His  son  went  to  him,  and,  taking  his 
arm,  said,  "Come,  you've  done  enough  for  to-day." 

The  old  man  made  no  reply,  but  submissively 
walked  away  into  the  Coin  es  Anes.  Once,  however, 
he  turned  and  looked  the  way  Detricand  had  gone, 
muttering.  The  peasants  cheered  him  as  he  passed. 
Presently,  free  of  the  crowd  and  entering  the  Rue 
d'Egypte,  he  said  to  Ranulph,  — 

"  I  'm  going  alone  ;  I  don't  need  you." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ? "  asked  Ranulph. 

"  Home,"  answered  the  old  man  gloomily. 

Ranulph  stopped.  "  All  right ;  better  not  come  out 
again  to-day." 

"  You  're  not  going  to  let  that  Frenchman  hurt 
me  ?"  suddenly  asked  Delagarde  with  morose  anxiety. 
"  You  're  going  to  stop  that  ?  They  'd  put  me  in 
prison." 

Ranulph  stooped  over  his  father,  his  eyes  alive  with 
anger,  his  face  blurred  with  disgust. 

"  Go  home,"  said  he,  "and  never  mention  this  again 
while  you  live,  or  I  '11  take  you  to  prison  myself." 

Ranulph  watched  his  father  disappear  down  the 
Rue  d'Egypte,  then  he  retraced  his  steps  to  the  Vier 
March i.  With  a  new-formed  determination  he  quick- 
ened his  walk,  ruling  his  face  to  a  sort  of  forced  gay- 


ii4     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

ety,  lest  any  one  should  think  his  moodiness  strange. 
One  person  after  another  accosted  him.  He  listened 
eagerly,  to  see  if  anything  were  said  which  might 
show  suspicion  of  his  father.  But  the  gossip  was  all 
in  old  Delagarde's  favor.  From  group  to  group  he 
went,  answering  greetings  cheerily  and  steeling  him- 
self to  the  whole  disgusting  business. 

Presently  he  saw  the  Chevalier  du  Champsavoys 
with  the  Sieur  de  Mauprat.  This  was  the  first  public 
appearance  of  the  Chevalier  since  the  sad  business  at 
the  Vier  Prison  a  fortnight  before.  The  simple  folk 
had  forgotten  their  insane  treatment  of  him  then,  and 
they  saluted  him  now  with  a  chirping,  "  Es-tu  biaou, 
Chevalier  ?  "  and  "  Es-tu  gentiment,  m'sieu'  ? "  to 
which  he  responded  with  amiable  forgiveness.  To 
his  idea  they  were  only  naughty  children,  their  minds 
reasoning  no  more  clearly  than  they  saw  the  streets 
through  the  tiny  little  squares  of  bottle-glass  in  the 
windows  of  their  homes. 

All  at  once  they  came  face  to  face  with  Detricand. 
The  Chevalier  stopped  short  with  pleased  yet  wistful 
surprise.  His  brow  knitted  when  he  saw  that  his 
compatriot  had  been  drinking  again,  and  his  eyes  had 
a  pained  look  as  he  said  eagerly  :  — 

"  Have  you  heard  from  the  Comte  de  Tournay, 
monsieur  ?  I  have  not  seen  you  these  days  past.  You 
said  you  would  not  disappoint  me." 

Detricand  drew  from  his  pocket  a  letter  and  handed 
it  over,  saying,  "This  comes  from  the  Comte." 

The  old  gentleman  took  the  letter,  nervously 
opened  it,  and  read  it  slowly,  saying  each  sentence 
over  twice  as  though  to  get  the  full  meaning. 

"Ah,"  he  exclaimed,  "he  is  going  back  to  France 
to  fight  for  the  King !  " 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   115 

Then  he  looked  at  Detricand  sadly,  benevolently. 
"Man  chcr"  said  he,  "if  I  could  but  persuade  you  to 
abjure  the  wine-cup  and  follow  his  example ! " 

Detricand  drew  himself  up  with  a  jerk.  "  You  can 
persuade  me,  Chevalier,"  said  he.  "  This  is  my  last 
bout.  I  had  sworn  to  have  it  with  —  with  a  soldier  I 
knew,  and  I  've  kept  my  word.  But  it 's  the  last,  the 
very  last  in  my  life,  on  the  honor  of  —  the  Detricands. 
And  I  am  going  with  the  Comte  de  Tournay  to  fight 
for  the  King." 

The  little  Chevalier's  lips  trembled,  and  taking  the 
young  man  by  the  collar  of  his  coat,  he  stood  tiptoed, 
and  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks. 

"Will  you  accept  something  from  me?"  asked  M. 
de  Mauprat,  joining  in  his  friend's  enthusiasm.  He 
took  from  his  pocket  a  timepiece  he  had  worn  for 
fifty  years.  "  It  is  a  little  gift  to  my  France,  which  I 
shall  see  no  more,"  he  added.  "  May  no  time  be  ill 
spent  that  it  records  for  you,  monsieur." 

Detricand  laughed  in  his  careless  way,  but  the  face, 
seamed  with  dissipation,  took  on  a  new  and  better 
look,  as  with  a  hand-grasp  of  gratitude  he  put  the 
timepiece  in  his  pocket. 

"  I  '11  do  my  best,"  he  said  simply.  "  I  '11  be  with 
de  la  Rochejaquelein  and  the  army  of  the  Vendee  to- 
morrow night." 

Then  he  shook  hands  with  both  little  gentlemen 
and  moved  away  towards  the  Rue  des  Tres  Pigeons. 
Presently  some  one  touched  his  arm.  He  looked 
round.  It  was  Ranulph. 

"  I  stood  near,"  said  Ranulph  ;  "  I  chanced  to  hear 
what  you  said  to  them.  You  've  been  a  friend  to  me 
to-day,  —  and  these  eleven  years  past.  You  knew  — 
about  my  father,  all  the  time." 


ii6     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

Before  replying  Detricand  glanced  round  to  see  that 
no  one  was  listening. 

"  Look  you,  monsieur,  a  man  must  keep  some  de- 
cencies in  his  life,  or  cut  his  own  throat.  What  a 
ruffian  I  'd  be  to  do  you  or  your  father  harm  !  I  'm 
silent,  of  course.  Let  your  mind  rest  about  me.  But 
there  's  the  baker  Carcaud  "  — 

"The  baker?"  asked  Ranulph  dumfounded.  "I 
thought  he  was  tied  to  a  rock  by  Rullecour's  orders, 
and  left  to  drown." 

"  I  had  him  set  free  after  Rullecour  had  gone  on  to 
the  town.  He  got  away  to  France." 

Ranulph's  anxiety  deepened.  "He  might  come 
back,  and  then  if  anything  happened  to  him  "  — 

"  He  'd  try  and  make  things  happen  to  others,  eh  ! 
But  there 's  little  danger  of  his  coming  back.  They 
know  he  's  a  traitor,  and  he  knows  he  'd  be  hung.  If 
he 's  alive  he  '11  stay  where  he  is.  Cheer  up  !  Take 
my  word,  Olivier  Delagarde  has  only  himself  to  fear." 
He  put  out  his  hand.  "  Good-by  !  If  ever  I  can  do 
anything  for  you,  if  you  ever  want  to  find  me,  come 
or  send  to  —  no,  I  '11  write  it,"  he  suddenly  added,  and 
scribbling  something  on  a  piece  of  paper  he  handed 
it  over. 

They  parted  with  another  handshake,  Detricand 
making  his  way  into  the  Rue  d'Egypte,  and  towards 
the  Place  du  Vier  Prison. 

Ranulph  stood  looking  dazedly  at  the  crowd  before 
him,  misery,  revolt,  and  bitterness  in  his  heart.  This 
French  adventurer,  Detricand,  after  years  of  riotous 
living,  could  pick  up  the  threads  of  life  again  with  a 
laugh  and  no  shame,  while  he  felt  himself  going  down, 
down,  down,  with  no  hope  of  ever  rising  again. 

As  he  stood  buried  in  his  reflections  the  town  crier 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  117 

entered  the  Vier  Marchi,  and,  going  to  La  Pyramide, 
took  his  place  upon  the  steps,  and  in  a  loud  voice 
began  reading  a  proclamation. 

It  was  to  the  effect  that  the  great  Fishing  Company 
trading  to  Gaspe  needed  twenty  Jersiais  to  go  out 
and  replace  a  number  of  the  company's  officers  and 
men  who  had  been  drowned  in  a  gale  off  the  rock 
called  Perce.  To  these  twenty,  if  they  went  at  once, 
good  pay  would  be  given.  But  they  must  be  men  of 
intelligence  and  vigor,  of  well-known  character. 

The  critical  moment  in  Maitre  Ranulph's  life  came 
now.  Here  he  was  penned  up  in  a  little  island,  chained 
to  a  criminal  having  the  fame  of  a  martyr.  It  was  not 
to  be  borne.  Why  not  leave  it  all  behind  ?  Why  not 
let  his  father  shift  for  himself,  abide  his  own  fate  ? 
Why  not  leave  him  the  home,  what  money  he  had  laid 
by,  and  go  —  go  —  go  where  he  could  forget,  go  where 
he  could  breathe  !  Surely  self-preservation,  that  was 
the  first  law ;  surely  no  known  code  of  human  practice 
called  upon  him  to  share  the  daily  crimes  of  any  liv- 
ing soul ;  it  was  a  daily  repetition  of  his  crime  for 
this  traitor  to  carry  on  the  atrocious  lie  of  patri- 
otism. 

He  would  go.     It  was  his  right. 

Taking  a  few  steps  towards  the  officer  of  the  Com- 
pany standing  by  the  crier,  he  was  about  to  speak. 
Some  one  touched  him. 

He  turned  and  saw  Carterette.  She  had  divined 
his  intention,  and  though  she  was  in  the  dark  as  to 
the  motive,  she  saw  that  he  meant  to  go  to  Gaspe. 
Her  heart  seemed  to  contract  till  the  pain  of  it  hurt 
her  ;  then,  as  a  new  thought  flashed  into  her  mind,  it 
was  freed  again  and  began  pounding  hard  against  her 
breast.  She  must  prevent  him  from  leaving  Jersey, 


ii8  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

from  leaving  her.  What  she  might  feel  personally 
would  have  no  effect  upon  him ;  she  would  appeal  to 
him  from  a  different  standpoint. 

"You  must  not  go,"  she  said.  "You  must  not 
leave  your  father  alone,  Maitre  Ranulph." 

For  a  minute  he  did  not  reply.  Through  his  dark 
wretchedness  one  thought  pierced  its  way :  this  girl 
was  his  good  friend. 

"  Then  I  '11  take  him  with  me,"  he  said. 

"He  would  die  in  the  awful  cold,"  she  answered. 
"Nannin-gia,  you  must  stay." 

"  Eh  ben,  I  will  think  !  "  he  said  presently,  with  an 
air  of  heavy  resignation,  and,  turning,  walked  away. 
Her  eyes  followed  him.  As  she  went  back  to  her 
booth  she  smiled  :  he  had  come  one  step  her  way. 
He  would  not  go. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

WHEN  Detricand  left  the  Vier  March!  he  made 
his  way  along  the  Rue  d'Egypte  to  the  house 
of  M.  de  Mauprat.  The  front  door  was  open,  and  a 
nice  savor  of  boiling  fruit  came  from  within.  He 
knocked,  and  instantly  Guida  appeared,  her  sleeves 
rolled  back  to  her  elbows,  her  fingers  stained  with  the 
rich  red  of  the  blackberries  on  the  fire. 

A  curious  shade  of  disappointment  came  into  her 
face  when  she  saw  who  it  was.  It  was  clear  to  De- 
tricand that  she  expected  some  one  else  ;  it  was  also 
clear  that  his  coming  gave  no  especial  pleasure  to 
her,  though  she  looked  at  him  with  interest.  She  had 
thought  of  him  more  than  once  since  that  day  when 
the  famous  letter  from  France  to  the  Chevalier  was 
read.  She  had  instinctively  compared  him,  this  roys- 
tering,  notorious  fellow,  with  Philip  d'Avranche, 
Philip  the  brave,  the  ambitious,  the  conquering.  She 
was  sure  that  Philip  had  never  over-drunk  himself  in 
his  life  ;  and  now,  looking  into  the  face  of  Detricand, 
she  could  tell  that  he  had  been  drinking  again.  One 
thing  was  apparent,  however :  he  was  better  dressed 
than  she  ever  remembered  seeing  him,  better  pulled 
together,  and  bearing  himself  with  an  air  of  purpose. 

"  I  've  fetched  back  your  handkerchief,  —  you  tied 
up  my  head  with  it,  you  know,"  he  said,  taking  it 
from  his  pocket.  "  I  'm  going  away,  and  I  wanted 
to  thank  you." 


120  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

"Will  you  not  come  in,  monsieur?"  she  said. 

He  readily  entered  the  kitchen,  still  holding  the 
kandkerchief  in  his  hand,  but  he  did  not  give  it  to 
her. 

"  Where  will  you  sit  ? "  she  said,  looking  round. 
"  I  'm  very  busy.  You  must  n't  mind  my  working," 
she  added,  going  to  the  brass  bashin  at  the  fire. 
"This  preserve  will  spoil  if  I  don't  watch  it." 

He  seated  himself  on  the  veille,  and  nodded  his 
head. 

"  I  like  this,"  he  said.  "  I  'm  fond  of  kitchens.  I 
always  was.  When  I  was  fifteen  I  was  sent  away 
from  home  because  I  liked  the  stables  and  the  kitchen 
too  well.  Also,  I  fell  in  love  with  the  cook." 

Guida  flushed,  frowned,  her  lips  tightened,  then 
presently  a  look  of  amusement  broke  over  her  face, 
and  she  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Why  do  you  tell  me  these  things  ? "  she  said. 
"  Excuse  me,  monsieur,  but  why  do  you  always  tell 
unpleasant  things  about  yourself  ?  People  think  ill 
of  you,  and  otherwise  they  might  think  —  better." 

"  I  don't  want  them  to  think  better  till  I  am  bet- 
ter," he  answered.  "  The  only  way  I  can  prevent 
myself  becoming  a  sneak  is  by  blabbing  my  faults. 
Now,  I  was  drunk  last  night,  —  very,  very  drunk  !  " 

A  look  of  disgust  came  into  her  face. 

"  Why  do  you  relate  this  sort  of  thing  to  me,  mon- 
sieur ?  Do  —  do  I  remind  you  of  the  cook  at  home, 
or  of  an  oyster-girl  in  Jersey  ? " 

She  was  flushing,  but  her  voice  was  clear  and  vi- 
brant, the  look  of  the  eyes  direct  and  fearless.  How 
dared  he  hold  her  handkerchief  like  that ! 

"  I  tell  you  them,"  he  answered  slowly,  looking  at 
the  handkerchief  in  his  hand,  then  raising  his  eyes  to 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG      121 

hers  with  whimsical  gravity,  "  because  I  want  you  to 
ask  me  never  to  drink  again." 

She  looked  at  him  scarce  comprehending,  yet  feel- 
ing a  deep  compliment  somewhere,  for  this  man  was 
a  gentleman  by  birth,  and  his  manner  was  respectful, 
and  had  always  been  respectful  to  her. 

"  Why  do  you  want  me  to  ask  you  that  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Because  I  'm  going  to  France  to  join  the  war  of 
the  Vendee,  and  "  — 

"With  the  Comte  de  Tournay  ?"  she  interrupted. 

He  nodded  his  head.  "  And  if  I  thought  I  was 
keeping  a  promise  to  —  to  you,  I  'd  not  break  it.  Will 
you  ask  me  to  promise? "  he  persisted,  watching  her 
intently. 

"Why,  of  course,"  she  answered  kindly,  almost 
gently ;  the  compliment  was  so  real,  he  could  not  be 
all  bad. 

"Then  say  my  name,  and  ask  me,"  he  said. 

"Monsieur"  — 

"Leave  out  the  monsieur"  he  interrupted. 

"  Yves  Savary  dit  Detricand,  will  you  promise  me, 
Guida  Landresse  "  — 

"  De  Landresse,"  he  interposed  courteously. 

"  —  Guida  Landresse  de  Landresse,  that  you  will 
never  again  drink  wine  to  excess,  and  that  you  will 
never  do  anything  that  "  —  she  paused  confused. 

"That  you  would  not  wish  me  to  do,"  he  said  in  a 
low  voice. 

"That  I  should  not  wish  you  to  do,"  she  repeated 
in  a  half  embarrassed  way. 

"  On  my  honor  I  promise,"  he  said  slowly. 

A  strange  feeling  came  over  her.  She  had  sud- 
denly, in  some  indirect,  allusive  way,  become  inter- 


122  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

ested  in  a  man's  life.  Yet  she  had  done  nothing,  and 
in  truth  she  cared  nothing.  They  stood  looking  at 
each  other,  she  slightly  embarrassed,  he  hopeful  and 
eager,  when  suddenly  a  step  sounded  without,  a  voice 
called  "  Guida  !  "  and  as  Guida  colored  and  Detricand 
turned  towards  the  door,  Philip  d'Avranche  entered 
impetuously. 

He  stopped  short  on  seeing  Detricand.  They  knew 
each  other  slightly,  and  they  bowed.  Philip  frowned. 
He  saw  that  something  had  occurred  between  the 
two.  Detricand  on  his  part  realized  the  significance 
of  that  familiar  "  Guida !  "  called  from  outside.  He 
took  up  his  cap. 

"It  is  greeting  and  good-by.  I  am  just  off  for 
France,"  he  said. 

Philip  eyed  him  coldly,  and  not  a  little  maliciously, 
for  he  knew  Detricand' s  reputation  well,  the  signs  of 
a  hard  life  were  thick  on  him,  and  he  did  not  like  to 
think  of  Guida  being  alone  with  him. 

"  France  should  offer  a  wide  field  for  your  talents 
just  now,"  he  answered  dryly;  "they  seem  wasted 
here." 

Detricand's  eye  flashed,  but  he  answered  coolly, 
"It  was  n't  talent  that  brought  me  here,  but  a  boy's 
folly ;  it 's  not  talent  that 's  kept  me  from  starving 
here,  I  'm  afraid,  but  the  ingenuity  of  the  desperate." 

"  Why  stay  here  ?  The  world  was  wide,  and 
France  but  a  step  away.  You  would  not  have 
needed  talents  there.  You  would  no  doubt  have  been 
rewarded  by  the  Court  which  sent  you  and  Rullecour 
to  ravage  Jersey  " 

"The  proper  order  is  Rullecour  and  me ,  monsieur." 

Detricand  seemed  suddenly  to  have  got  back  a 
manner  to  which  he  had  been  long  a  stranger.  His 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG      123 

temper  became  imperturbable,  and  this  was  not  lost 
on  Philip ;  his  manner  had  a  balanced  serenity,  while 
Philip  himself  had  no  such  perfect  control ;  which 
made  him  the  more  impatient.  Presently  Detricand 
added  in  a  composed  and  nonchalant  tone  :  — 

"  I  've  no  doubt  there  were  those  at  Court  who  'd 
have  clothed  me  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  and  given 
me  wine  and  milk ;  but  it  was  my  whim  to  work  in 
the  galleys  here,  as  it  were." 

"Then  I  trust  you've  enjoyed  your  Botany  Bay," 
answered  Philip  mockingly.  "  You  Ve  been  your  own 
jailer ;  you  could  lay  the  strokes  on  heavy  or  light." 
He  moved  to  the  veille,  and  sat  down.  Guida  busied 
herself  at  the  fireplace,  but  listened  intently. 

"  I  've  certainly  been  my  own  enemy,  whether  the 
strokes  were  heavy  or  light,"  replied  Detricand,  lifting 
a  shoulder  ironically. 

"  And  a  friend  to  Jersey  at  the  same  time,  eh  ? " 
was  the  sneering  reply. 

Detricand  was  in  the  humor  to  tell  the  truth  even 
to  this  man  who  hated  him.  He  was  giving  himself 
the  luxury  of  auricular  confession.  But  Philip  did 
not  see  that  when  once  such  a  man  has  stood  in  his 
own  pillory,  sat  in  his  own  stocks,  voluntarily  paid 
the  piper,  he  will  take  no  after  insult. 

Detricand  still  would  not  be  tempted  out  of  his 
composure.  "  No,"  he  answered,  "  I  've  been  an  enemy 
to  Jersey,  too,  both  by  act  and  example ;  but  people 
here  have  been  kind  enough  to  forget  the  act,  and 
the  example  I  set  is  not  unique." 

"  You  Ve  never  thought  that  you  Ve  outstayed  your 
welcome,  eh  ? " 

"  As  to  that,  every  country  is  free  to  whoever  wills, 
if  one  cares  to  pay  the  entrance  fee  and  can  endure 


124  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

the  entertainment.  One  has  n't  to  apologize  for  living 
ill  a  country.  You  probably  get  no  better  treatment 
than  you  deserve,  and  no  worse.  One  thing  balances 
another." 

The  man's  cool  impeachment  and  defense  of  him- 
self irritated  Philip,  the  more  so  because  Guida  was 
present,  and  this  gentlemanly  vagrant  had  him  at 
advantage. 

"  You  paid  no  entrance  fee  here ;  you  stole  in 
through  a  hole  in  the  wall.  You  should  have  been 
hanged." 

"  Monsieur  d'Avranche  !  "  said  Guida  reproachfully, 
turning  round  from  the  fire. 

Detricand's  answer  came  biting  and  dry.  "You 
are  an  officer  of  your  King,  as  was  I.  You  should 
know  that  hanging  the  invaders  of  Jersey  would  have 
been  butchery.  We  were  soldiers  of  France ;  we  had 
the  distinction  of  being  prisoners  of  war,  monsieur." 

This  shot  went  home.  Philip  had  been  touched  in 
that  nerve  called  military  honor.  He  got  to  his  feet. 

"You  are  right,"  he  answered  with  reluctant  frank- 
ness. "Our  grudge  is  not  individual,  it  is  against 
France,  and  we  '11  pay  it  soon  with  good  interest, 
monsieur !  " 

"  The  individual  grudge  will  not  be  lost  sight  of  in 
the  general,  I  hope  ? "  rejoined  Detricand  with  cool 
suggestion,  his  clear,  persistent  gray  eye  looking 
straight  into  Philip's. 

"  I  shall  do  you  that  honor,"  said  Philip  with  mis- 
taken disdain. 

Detricand  bowed  low.  "  You  shall  always  find  me 
in  the  suite  of  the  Prince  of  Vaufontaine,  monsieur, 
and  ready  to  be  so  distinguished  by  you."  Turning 
to  Guida,  he  added,  "  Mademoiselle  will  perhaps  do 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  125 

me  the  honor  to  notice  me  again  one  day  ?  " 
then,  with  a  mocking  nod  to  Philip,  he  left  the 
house. 

Guida  and  Philip  stood  looking  after  him  in  silence 
for  a  minute.  Suddenly  Guida  said  to  herself,  "  My 
handkerchief  !  Why  did  he  take  my  handkerchief  ? 
He  put  it  in  his  pocket  again." 

Philip  turned  on  her  impatiently. 

"  What  was  that  adventurer  saying  to  you,  Guida  ? 
In  the  suite  of  the  Prince  of  Vaufontaine,  my  faith ! 
What  did  he  come  here  for  ? " 

Guida  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  She  scarcely 
grasped  the  significance  of  the  question.  Before  she 
had  time  to  consider,  he  pressed  it  again,  and  without 
hesitation  she  told  him  all  that  had  happened  —  it  was 
so  very  little,  of  course  —  between  Detricand  and 
herself.  She  omitted  nothing  save  that  Detricand 
had  carried  off  the  handkerchief,  and  she  could  not 
have  told,  if  she  had  been  asked,  why  she  did  not 
speak  of  it. 

Philip  raged  inwardly.  He  saw  the  meaning  of  the 
whole  situation  from  Detricand's  standpoint,  but  he 
was  wise  enough  from  his  own  standpoint  to  keep  it 
to  himself ;  and  so  both  of  them  reserved  something,  — 
she  from  no  motive  that  she  knew,  he  from  an  ulterior 
one.  He  was  angry  too  :  angry  at  Detricand,  angry 
at  Guida  for  her  very  innocence  and  because  she  had 
caught  and  held  even  the  slight  line  of  association 
Detricand  had  thrown. 

In  any  case,  Detricand  was  going  to-morrow,  and 
to-day  —  to-day  should  decide  all  between  Guida  and 
himself !  Used  to  bold  moves,  in  this  affair  of  love 
he  was  living  up  to  his  custom ;  and  the  encounter 
with  Detricand  here  added  the  last  touch  to  his  reso- 


126     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

lution,  nerved  him  to  follow  his  strong  impulse  to  set 
all  upon  one  hazard.  A  month  ago  he  had  told  Guida 
that  he  loved  her ;  to-day  there  should  be  a  still  more 
daring  venture.  A  thing  not  captured  by  a  forlorn 
hope  seemed  not  worth  having.  The  girl  had  seized 
his  emotions  from  the  first  moment,  and  had  held 
them.  To  him  she  was  the  most  original  creature  he 
had  ever  met,  the  most  natural,  the  most  humorous 
of  temper,  the  most  sincere.  She  had  no  duplicity, 
no  guile,  no  arts. 

He  said  to  himself  that  he  knew  his  own  mind 
always.  He  believed  in  inspirations,  and  he  would 
back  his  knowledge,  his  inspiration,  by  an  irretrieva- 
ble move.  Yesterday  had  come  an  important  mes- 
sage from  his  commander.  That  had  decided  him. 
To-day  Guida  should  hear  a  message  beyond  all  others 
in  importance. 

"Won't  you  come  into  the  garden?"  he  said  pre- 
sently. 

"  A  moment  —  a  moment !  "  she  answered  him 
lightly,  for  the  frown  had  passed  from  his  face,  and 
he  was  his  old  buoyant  self  again.  "  I  'm  to  make 
an  end  to  this  bashin  of  berries  first,"  she  added.  So 
saying,  she  waved  him  away  with  a  little  air  of  tyr- 
anny; and  he  perched  himself  boyishly  on  the  big 
chair  in  the  corner,  and  with  idle  impatience  began 
playing  with  the  flax  on  the  spinning-wheel  near  by. 
Then  he  took  to  humming  a  ditty  the  Jersey  house- 
wife used  to  sing  as  she  spun,  while  Guida  disposed 
of  the  sweet-smelling  fruit.  Suddenly  she  stopped 
and  stamped  her  foot. 

"  No,  no,  that 's  not  right,  stupid  sailor-man,"  she 
said,  and  she  sang  a  verse  at  him  over  the  last  details 
of  her  work :  — 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     127 

"Spin,  spin,  belle  Mergaton  ! 

The  moon  wheels  full,  and  the  tide  flows  high, 
And  your  wedding-gown  you  must  put  it  on 
Ere  the  night  hath  no  moon  in  the  sky  — 
Gigoton  Mergaton,  spin  !  " 

She  paused.  He  was  entranced.  He  had  never 
heard  her  sing,  and  the  full,  beautiful  notes  of  her 
contralto  voice  thrilled  him  like  organ  music.  His 
look  devoured  her,  her  song  captured  him. 

"  Please  go  on,"  he  said.  "  I  never  heard  it  that 
way." 

She  was.  embarrassed  yet  delighted  by  his  praise, 
and  she  threw  into  the  next  verse  a  deep  weirdness  :  — 

"  Spin,  spin,  belle  Mergaton ! 

Your  gown  shall  be  stitched  ere  the  old  moon  fade  : 
The  age  of  a  moon  shall  your  hands  spin  on, 
Or  a  wife  in  her  shroud  shall  be  laid  — 
Gigoton  Mergaton,  spin  !  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  that 's  it !  "  he  exclaimed  with  gay  ardor. 
"  That 's  it.  Sing  on.  There  are  two  more  verses." 

"  I  '11  only  sing  one,"  she  answered,  with  a  little  air 
of  willfulness  :  — 

"  Spin,  spin,  belle  Mergaton ! 

The  Little  Good  Folk  the  spell  they  have  cast ; 
By  your  work  well  done  while  the  moon  hath  shone, 
Ye  shall  cleave  unto  joy  at  last  — 
Gigoton  Mergaton,  spin  ! " 

As  she  sang  the  last  verse  she  seemed  in  a  dream, 
and  her  rich  voice,  rising  with  the  spirit  of  the  con- 
cluding lines,  poured  out  the  notes  like  a  bird  drunk 
with  the  air  of  spring. 

"Guida!"  he  cried,  springing  to  his  feet,  "when 
you  sing  like  that  it  seems  to  me  I  live  in  a  world 
that  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  sordid  business  of 


128     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

life,  with  my  dull  trade,  —  with  getting  the  weather- 
gauge  or  sailing  in  triple  line  !  You  're  a  planet  all 
by  yourself,  Mistress  Guida!  Are  you  ready  to 
come  into  the  garden  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  in  a  minute,"  she  answered.  "  You 
go  out  to  the  big  apple-tree,  and  I  '11  come  in  a  min- 
ute." 

The  apple-tree  was  in  the  farthest  corner  of  the 
large  garden.  Near  it  was  the  summer-house  where 
Guida  and  her  mother  used  to  sit  and  read,  Guida 
on  the  three-legged  stool,  her  mother  on  the  low,  wide 
seat  covered  with  ferns.  This  spot  Guida  used  to 
"flourish"  with  flowers.  The  vines,  too,  crept 
through  the  rough  lattice-work,  and  all  together  made 
the  place  a  bower,  secluded  and  serene.  The  water 
of  the  little  stream  outside  the  hedge  made  music 
too. 

Philip  placed  himself  on  the  bench  beneath  the 
apple-tree.  What  a  change  was  all  this,  he  thought 
to  himself,  from  the  staring  hot  stones  of  Malta,  the 
squalor  of  Constantinople,  the  frigid  cliffs  of  Spitz- 
bergen,  the  noisome  tropical  forests  of  the  Indies ! 
This  was  Arcady.  It  was  peace,  it  was  content.  His 
life  was  sure  to  be  varied  and  perhaps  stormy  :  here 
would  be  the  true  change,  the  spirit  of  all  this.  Of 
course  he  would  have  two  sides  to  his  life  like  most 
men :  that  lived  before  the  world,  and  that  of  the 
home.  He  would  have  the  fight  for  fame.  He  would 
have  to  use,  not  duplicity,  but  diplomacy,  to  play  a 
kind  of  game  ;  but  this  other  side  to  his  life,  the  side 
of  love  and  home,  should  be  simple,  direct,  —  all  gen- 
uine and  strong  and  true.  In  this  way  he  would  have 
a  wonderful  career. 

He  heard  Guida's  footstep  now,  and  standing  up  he 


THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG     129 

parted  the  apple-boughs  for  her  entrance.  She  was 
dressed  all  in  white,  without  a  touch  of  color  save  in 
the  wild  rose  at  her  throat  and  the  pretty  red  shoes 
with  the  broad  buckles  which  the  Chevalier  had  given 
her.  Her  face,  too,  had  color,  —  the  soft,  warm  tint 
of  the  peach-blossom,  —  and  her  auburn  hair  was  like 
an  aureole. 

Philip's  eyes  gleamed.  He  stretched  out  both  his 
hands  in  greeting  and  tenderness. 

"  Guida  —  sweetheart ! "  he  said. 

She  laughed  up  at  him  mischievously,  and  put  her 
hands  behind  her  back. 

"Ma  ///  you  are  so  very  forward,"  she  said,  seat- 
ing herself  on  the  bench.  "  And  you  must  not  call 
me  Guida,  and  you  've  no  right  to  call  me  sweet- 
heart." 

"  I  know  I  've  no  right  to  call  you  anything,  but  to 
myself  I  always  call  you  Guida,  and  sweetheart,  too, 
and  I  've  liked  to  think  that  you  would  care  to  know 
my  thoughts,"  he  answered. 

"Yes,  I  wish  I  knew  your  thoughts,"  she  re- 
sponded, looking  up  at  him  intently ;  "  I  should  like 
to  know  every  thought  in  your  mind.  .  .  .  Do  you 
know  —  you  don't  mind  my  saying  just  what  I  think? 
—  I  find  myself  feeling  that  there  's  something  in  you 
that  I  never  touch ;  I  mean,  that  a  friend  ought  to 
touch,  if  it 's  a  real  friendship.  You  appear  to  be  so 
frank,  and  I  know  you  are  frank  and  good  and  true, 
and  yet  I  seem  always  to  be  hunting  for  something 
in  your  mind,  and  it  slips  away  from  me  always  — 
always.  I  suppose  it  's  because  we  're  two  different 
beings,  and  no  two  beings  can  ever  know  each  other 
in  this  world,  not  altogether.  We  're  what  the  Che- 
valier calls  '  separate  entities.'  I  seem  to  understand 


130  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

his  odd,  wise  talk  better  lately.  He  said  the  other 
day,  '  Lonely  we  come  into  the  world,  and  lonely  we 
go  out  of  it.'  That 's  what  I  mean.  It  makes  me 
shudder  sometimes,  —  that  part  of  us  which  lives  alone 
forever.  We  go  running  on  as  happy  as  can  be,  like 
Biribi  there  in  the  garden,  and  all  at  once  we  stop 
short  at  a  hedge,  just  as  he  does  there,  —  a  hedge 
just  too  tall  to  look  over  and  with  no  foothold  for 
climbing.  That 's  what  I  want  so  much ;  I  want  to 
look  over  the  Hedge." 

When  she  spoke  like  this  to  Philip,  as  she  some- 
times did,  she  seemed  quite  unconscious  that  he  was 
a  listener,  it  was  rather  as  if  he  were  part  of  her  and 
thinking  the  same  thoughts.  To  Philip  she  seemed 
wonderful.  He  had  never  bothered  his  head  in  that 
way  about  abstract  things  when  he  was  her  age,  and 
he  could  not  understand  it  in  her.  What  was  more, 
he  could  not  have  thought  as  she  did  if  he  had  tried. 
She  had  that  sort  of  mind  which  accepts  no  stereo- 
typed reflection  or  idea ;  she  worked  things  out  for 
herself.  Her  words  were  her  own,  and  not  another's. 
She  was  not  imitative,  nor  yet  was  she  bizarre ;  she 
was  individual,  simple,  inquiring. 

"  That 's  the  thing  that  hurts  most  in  life,"  she 
added  presently ;  "  that  trying  to  find  and  not  being 
able  to  —  voild,  what  a  child  I  am  to  babble  so  ! " 
she  broke  off  with  a  little  laugh,  which  had,  how- 
ever, a  plaintive  note.  There  was  a  touch  of  un- 
developed pathos  in  her  character,  for  she  had  been 
left  alone  too  young,  been  given  responsibility  too 
soon. 

He  felt  he  must  say  something,  and  in  a  sympa- 
thetic tone  he  replied,  — 

"Yes,  Guida,  but  after  a  while  we  stop  trying  to 


THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG     131 

follow  and  see  and  find,  and  we  walk  in  the  old  paths 
and  take  things  as  they  are." 

"  Have  you  stopped  ? "  she  said  to  him  wistfully. 

"  Oh  no,  not  altogether,"  he  replied,  dropping  his 
tones  to  tenderness,  "  for  I  've  been  trying  to  peep 
over  a  hedge  this  afternoon,  and  I  have  n't  done  it 
yet." 

"Have  you?"  she  rejoined,  then  paused,  for  the 
look  in  his  eyes  embarrassed  her.  ..."  Why  do  you 
look  at  me  like  that  ? "  she  added  tremulously. 

"  Guida,"  he  said  earnestly,  leaning  towards  her, 
"  a  month  ago  I  asked  you  if  you  would  listen  to  me 
when  I  told  you  of  my  love,  and  you  said  you  would. 
Well,  sometimes  when  we  have  met  since,  I  have  told 
you  the  same  story,  and  you  've  kept  your  promise 
and  listened.  Guida,  I  want  to  go  on  telling  you  the 
same  story  for  a  long  time  —  even  till  you  or  I  die." 

"Do  you  —  ah,  then,  do  you?"  she  asked  simply. 
"  Do  you  really  wish  that  ?" 

"  It  is  the  greatest  wish  of  my  life,  and  always  will 
be,"  he  added,  taking  her  unresisting  hands. 

"  I  like  to  hear  you  say  it,"  she  answered  simply, 
"  and  it  cannot  be  wrong,  can  it  ?  Is  there  any  wrong 
in  my  listening  to  you  ?  Yet  why  do  I  feel  that  it  is 
not  quite  right?  Sometimes  I  do  feel  that." 

"One  thing  will  make  all  right,"  he  said  eagerly; 
"one  thing.  I  love  you,  Guida,  love  you  devotedly. 
Do  you  —  tell  me  if  you  love  me?  Do  not  fear  to  tell 
me,  dearest,  for  then  will  come  the  thing  that  makes 
all  right." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  responded,  her  heart  beating 
fast,  her  eyes  drooping  before  him ;  "  but  when  you 
go  from  me,  I  am  not  happy  till  I  see  you  again. 
When  you  are  gone,  I  want  to  be  alone  that  I  may 


132     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

remember  all  you  have  said,  and  say  it  over  to  myself 
again.  When  I  hear  you  speak  I  want  to  shut  my 
eyes,  I  am  so  happy  ;  and  every  word  of  mine  seems 
clumsy  when  you  talk  to  me ;  and  I  feel  of  how  little 
account  I  am  beside  you.  Is  that  love,  Philip  ? 
Philip,  do  you  think  that  is  love  ? " 

They  were  standing  now.  The  fruit  that  hung 
above  Guida's  head  was  not  fairer  and  sweeter  than 
she.  Philip  drew  her  to  him,  and  her  eyes  lifted  to 
his. 

"Is  that  love,  Philip?"  she  repeated.  "Tell  me, 
for  I  do  not  know ;  it  has  all  come  so  soon !  You 
are  wiser  ;  do  not  deceive  me  ;  you  understand,  and  I 
do  not.  Philip,  do  not  let  me  deceive  myself." 

"As  the  judgment  of  life  is  before  us,  I  believe 
you  love  me,  Guida,  though  I  don't  deserve  it,"  he 
answered  with  tender  seriousness. 

"  And  it  is  right  that  you  should  love  me ;  that  we 
should  love  each  other,  Philip?" 

"  It  will  be  right  soon,"  he  said,  "  right  forever. 
Guida  mine,  I  want  you  to  marry  me." 

His  arm  tightened  round  her  waist,  as  though  he 
half  feared  she  would  fly  from  him.  He  was  right ; 
she  made  a  motion  backward,  but  he  held  her  firmly, 
tenderly. 

"  Marry  —  marry  you,  Philip  !  "  she  exclaimed  in 
trembling  dismay. 

"  Marry  —  yes,  marry  me,  Guida.  That  will  make 
all  right  ;  that  will  bind  us  together  forever.  Have 
you  never  thought  of  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  never,  never  !  "  she  answered.  It  was  true, 
she  had  never  thought  of  that  ;  there  had  not  been 
time.  Too  much  had  come  all  at  once.  "  Why 
should  I  ?  I  cannot  —  cannot.  Oh,  it  could  not  be, 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  133 

—  not  at  least  for  a  long,  long  time,  not  for  years  and 
years,  Philip." 

"  Guida,"  he  answered  gravely  and  persistently,  "  I 
want  you  to  marry  me  —  to-morrow." 

She  was  overwhelmed.  She  could  scarcely  speak. 
"  To-morrow  —  to-morrow,  Philip  !  You  are  laughing 
at  me.  I  could  not  —  how  could  I  marry  you  to- 
morrow !  " 

"  Guida,  dearest,"  —  he  took  her  hands  more  tightly 
now,  —  "  you  must  indeed.  The  day  after  to-morrow 
my  ship  is  going  to  Portsmouth  for  two  months. 
Then  we  return  again  here,  but  I  will  not  go  now 
unless  I  go  as  your  husband." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  could  not —  it  is  impossible,  Philip  !  It 
is  madness,  it  is  wrong  !  My  grandfather  "  — 

"Your  grandfather  need  not  know,  sweetheart." 

"  How  can  you  say  such  wicked  things,  Philip  ?  " 

"  My  dearest,  it  is  not  necessary  for  him  to  know. 
I  don't  want  any  one  to  know  until  I  come  back  from 
Portsmouth.  Then  I  shall  have  a  ship  of  my  own  — 
commander  of  the  Araminta  I  shall  be  then.  I  have 
word  from  the  Admiralty  to  that  effect.  But  I  dare 
not  let  them  know  that  I  am  married  until  I  get  com- 
missioned to  my  ship.  The  Admiralty  has  set  its 
face  against  lieutenants  marrying." 

"  Then  do  not  marry,  Philip.  You  ought  not,  you 
see." 

Her  pleading  was  like  the  beating  of  helpless  wings 
against  the  bars  of  a  golden  cage. 

"  But  I  must  marry  you,  Guida.  A  sailor's  life  is 
uncertain,  and  what  I  want  I  want  now.  When  I 
come  back  from  Portsmouth  every  one  shall  know, 
but  if  you  love  me  —  and  I  know  you  do  —  you  must 
marry  me  to-morrow.  Until  I  come  back  no  one 


134  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

shall  know  about  it  except  the  clergyman,  Mr.  Dow, 
of  St.  Michael's,  —  I  have  seen  him,  —  and  Shoreham, 
a  brother  officer  of  mine.  Ah,  you  must,  Guida,  you 
must !  Whatever  is  worth  doing  is  better  worth 
doing  in  the  time  one's  own  heart  says.  I  want  it 
more,  a  thousand  times  more,  than  I  ever  wanted 
anything  in  my  life  !  " 

She  looked  at  him  in  a  troubled  sort  of  way.  Some- 
how she  felt  wiser  than  he  at  that  moment,  wiser  and 
stronger,  though  she  scarcely  denned  the  feeling  to 
herself,  though  she  knew  that  in  the  end  her  brain 
would  yield  to  her  heart  in  this. 

"Would  it  make  you  so  much  happier,  Philip?" 
she  said  more  kindly  than  joyfully,  more  in  grave 
acquiescence  than  delighted  belief. 

"  Yes,  on  my  honor,  —  supremely  happy  !  " 

"  You  are  afraid  that  otherwise  —  by  some  chance 
—  you  might  lose  me?"  She  said  it  tenderly,  yet 
with  a  little  pain. 

"  Yes,  yes,  that  is  it,  Guida  dearest !  "  he  replied. 

"I  suppose  women  are  different  altogether  from 
men,"  she  answered.  "  I  could  have  waited  ever  so 
long,  believing  that  you  would  come  again,  and  that  I 
should  never  lose  you.  But  men  are  different ;  I  see, 
yes,  I  see  that,  Philip." 

"  We  are  more  impetuous.  We  know,  we  sailors, 
that  now  —  to-day  —  is  our  time  ;  that  to-morrow  may 
be  Fate's,  and  Fate  is  a  fickle  jade  :  she  beckons  you 
up  with  one  hand  to-day,  and  waves  you  down  with 
the  other  to-morrow." 

"Philip,"  she  said,  scarcely  above  a  whisper,  and 
putting  her  hands  on  his  arms,  as  her  head  sank 
towards  him,  "  I  must  be  honest  with  you,  —  I  must 
be  that  or  nothing  at  all.  I  do  not  feel  as  you  do 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     135 

about  it ;  I  can't.  I  would  much  —  much  —  rather 
everybody  knew.  And  I  feel  it  almost  wrong  that 
they  do  not." 

She  paused  a  minute,  her  brow  clouded  slightly, 
then  cleared  again,  and  she  went  on  bravely :  "  Philip, 
if  —  if  I  should,  you  must  promise  me  that  you  will 
leave  me  as  soon  as  ever  we  are  married,  and  that  you 
will  not  try  to  see  me  until  you  come  again  from 
Portsmouth.  I  am  sure  that  is  right,  for  the  decep- 
tion will  not  be  so  great.  I  should  be  better  able 
then  to  tell  the  poor  grandpethe !  Will  you  promise 
me,  Philip  —  dear  ?  It  —  it  is  so  hard  for  me !  Ah, 
cant  you  understand  !  " 

This  hopeless  everlasting  cry  of  a  woman's  soul ! 

He  clasped  her  close.  "  Yes,  Guida,  my  beloved,  I 
understand,  and  I  promise  you,  —  I  do  promise  you." 

Her  head  dropped  on  his  breast,  her  arms  ran 
round  his  neck.  He  raised  her  face ;  her  eyes  were 
closed ;  they  were  dropping  tears.  He  tenderly 
kissed  the  tears  away. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

"  Oh,  give  to  me  my  gui-1'annee, 

I  pray  you,  Monseigneur ; 
The  king's  princess  doth  ride  to-day, 

And  I  ride  forth  with  her. 
Oh  !  I  will  ride  the  maid  beside 

Till  we  come  to  the  sea, 
Till  my  good  ship  receive  my  bride, 

And  she  sail  far  with  me. 
Oh,  donnez-moi  ma  gui-F  annee , 

Monseigneur >je  vous  prie  !  " 

THE  singer  was  perched  on  a  huge  broad  stone, 
which,  lying  athwart  other  tall  perpendicular 
stones,  made  a  kind  of  hut,  approached  by  a  pathway 
of  upright  narrow  pillars,  irregular  and  crude.  Vast 
must  have  been  the  labor  of  man's  hands  to  lift  the 
massive  table  of  rock  upon  the  supporting  shafts,  — 
relics  of  an  age  when  they  were  the  only  architecture, 
the  only  national  monuments  ;  when  savage  ancestors 
in  lion  skins,  with  stone  weapons,  led  by  white-robed 
Druid  priests,  came  solemnly  here  and  left  the  mistle- 
toe wreath  upon  these  Houses  of  Death  for  their 
adored  warriors. 

Even  the  words  sung  by  Shoreham  on  the  rock 
carried  on  the  ancient  story,  the  sacred  legend  that 
he  who  wore  in  his  breast  this  mistletoe  got  from  the 
Druids'  altar,  bearing  his  bride  forth  by  sea  or  land, 
should  suffer  no  mischance  ;  and  for  the  bride  herself, 
the  morgen-gifn  should  fail  not,  but  should  attest 
richly  the  perfect  bliss  of  the  nuptial  hours. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     137 

The  light  was  almost  gone  from  the  day,  though 
the  last  crimson  petals  had  scarce  dropped  from  the 
rose  of  sunset.  Upon  the  sea  beneath  there  was  not 
a  ripple  —  it  was  a  lake  of  molten  silver,  shading  into 
a  leaden  silence  far  away.  The  tide  was  high,  and 
the  ragged  rocks  of  the  Bane  des  Violets  in  the  south 
and  the  Corbiere  in  the  west  were  all  but  hidden. 

Below  the  mound  where  the  tuneful  youth  loitered 
was  a  path,  leading  down  through  the  fields  and  into 
the  highway.  In  this  path  walked  lingeringly  a  man 
and  a  maid.  Despite  the  peaceful,  almost  dormant 
life  about  them,  the  great  event  of  their  lives  had  just 
occurred,  that  which  is  at  once  a  vast  adventure  and 
a  simple  testament  of  nature :  they  had  been  joined 
in  marriage  privately  in  the  parish  church  of  St. 
Michael's  near  by.  As  Shoreham's  voice  came  down 
the  cotil,  the  two  looked  up,  then  passed  on  out  of  view. 

But  still  the  voice  followed  them,  and  the  man 
looked  down  at  the  maid  repeating  the  refrain  of  the 
song,  — 

™Oh,  give  to  me  my  gui-1'annee, 

Monseigneur,je  vous  prie  !  " 

The  maid  looked  up  at  the  man  tenderly,  almost 
devoutly. 

"I  have  no  Druid's  mistletoe  from  the  Chapel  of 
St.  George,  but  I  will  give  you,  — stoop  down,  Philip," 
she  added  softly,  —  "I  will  give  you  the  first  kiss  I 
have  ever  given  to  any  man." 

He  stooped.  She  kissed  him  on  the  forehead,  then 
upon  the  lips. 

"  Guida,  my  wife  !  "  Philip  said,  and  drew  her  to 
his  breast. 

"  My  Philip  ! "  she  answered  softly. 

"  Won't  you  say,  '  Philip,  my  husband  ? ' ' 


138     THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG 

She  shyly  did  as  he  asked  in  a  voice  no  louder  than 
a  bee's.  She  was  only  seventeen. 

Presently  she  looked  up  at  him  with  a  look  a  little 
abashed,  a  little  anxious,  yet  tender  withal. 

"Philip,"  she  said,  "I  wonder  what  we  will  think  of 
this  day  a  year  from  now  —  ah,  don't  frown,  Philip," 
she  added ;  "  you  look  at  things  so  differently  from 
me.  To-day  is  everything  to  you  ;  to-morrow  is  very 
much  to  me.  It  is  n't  that  I  am  afraid,  it  is  that 
thoughts  of  possibilities  will  come  whether  or  no.  If 
I  could  n't  tell  you  everything  I  feel  I  should  be  most 
unhappy.  You  see,  I  want  to  be  able  to  do  that,  to 
tell  you  everything." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  he  said,  not  quite  compre- 
hending her,  for  his  thoughts  were  always  more  mate- 
rial. He  was  reveling  in  the  beauty  of  the  girl  be- 
fore him,  in  her  perfect  outward  self,  in  her  unique 
personality.  The  more  subtle,  the  deeper  part  of  her, 
the  searching  soul  never  to  be  content  with  superfi- 
cial reasons  and  the  obvious  cause,  these  he  did  not 
know  —  was  he  ever  to  know?  It  was  the  law  of 
her  nature  that  she  was  never  to  deceive  herself,  to 
pretend  anything,  nor  to  forgive  pretense.  To  see 
things,  to  look  beyond  the  Hedge,  that  was  to  be  a 
passion  with  her  ;  already  it  was  nearly  that. 

"Of  course,"  Philip  continued,  "you  must  tell  me 
everything,  and  I  '11  understand.  And  as  for  what  we  '11 
think  of  this  in  another  year,  why,  does  n't  it  hold  to 
reason  that  we  '11  think  it  the  best  day  of  our  lives  — 
as  it  is,  Guida  !  "  He  smiled  at  her,  and  touched  her 
shining  hair.  "  Evil  can't  come  out  of  good,  can  it  ? 
And  this  is  good,  as  good  as  anything  in  the  world 
can  be !  ...  There,  look  into  my  eyes  that  way  — 
just  that  way." 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  139 

"Are  you  happy  —  very,  very  happy,  Philip  ?"  she 
asked,  lingering  on  the  words. 

"  Perfectly  happy,  Guida,"  he  answered ;  and  in 
truth  he  seemed  so,  his  eyes  were  so  bright,  his  face 
.so  eloquent,  his  bearing  so  buoyant. 

"  And  you  think  we  have  done  quite  right,  Philip  ?  " 
she  urged. 

"  Of  course,  of  course  we  have.  We  are  honorably 
disposing  of  our  own  fates.  We  love  each  other,  we 
are  married  as  surely  as  others  are  married.  Where 
is  the  wrong  ?  We  have  told  no  one,  simply  because 
for  a  couple  of  months  it  is  best  not  to  do  so.  The 
parson  would  n't  have  married  us  if  there  'd  been  any- 
thing wrong." 

"  Oh,  it  is  n't  what  the  clergyman  might  think  that 
I  mean  ;  it 's  what  we  ourselves  think  down,  down  deep 
in  our  hearts.  If  you,  Philip  —  if  you  say  it  is  all 
right,  I  will  believe  that  it  is  right,  for  you  would 
never  want  your  wife  to  have  one  single  wrong  thing 
like  a  dark  spot  on  her  life  with  you,  would  you  ?  If 
it  is  all  right  to  you,  it  must  be  all  right  for  me,  don't 
you  see  ? " 

He  did  see  that,  and  it  made  him  grave  for  an  in- 
stant, it  made  him  not  quite  so  sure. 

"  If  your  mother  were  alive,"  he  answered,  "  of 
course  she  should  have  known ;  but  it  is  n't  necessary 
for  your  grandfather  to  know.  He  talks  ;  he  could  n't 
keep  it  to  himself  even  for  a  month.  But  we  have 
been  regularly  married,  we  have  a  witness  —  Shore- 
ham  over  there,"  —  he  pointed  towards  the  Druid's 
cromlech  where  the  young  man  was  perched,  —  "and 
it  only  concerns  us  now — only  you  and  me." 

"  Yet  if  anything  happened  to  you  during  the  next 
two  months,  Philip,  and  you  did  not  come  back  ! " 


140  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

"  My  dearest,  dearest  Guida,"  he  answered,  taking 
her  hands  in  his,  and  laughing  boyishly,  "  in  that  case 
you  will  announce  the  marriage.  Shoreham  and  the 
clergyman  are  witnesses  ;  besides,  there 's  the  certifi- 
cate which  Mr.  Dow  will  give  you  to-morrow;  and, 
above  all,  there 's  the  formal  record  on  the  parish 
register.  There,  sweetest  interrogation  mark  in  the 
world,  there  is  the  law  and  the  gospel !  Come,  come, 
let  us  be  gay,  let  this  be  the  happiest  hour  we  Ve  yet 
had  in  all  our  lives." 

"How  can  I  be  altogether  gay,  Philip,  when  we 
part  now,  and  I  shall  not  see  you  for  two  whole  long 
months  ? " 

"  May  n't  I  come  for  just  a  minute  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, before  I  go  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  no,  you  must  not,  indeed  you  must  not ! 
Remember  your  promise  ;  remember  that  you  are  not 
to  see  me  again  until  you  come  back  from  Ports- 
mouth. Even  this  is  not  quite  what  we  agreed,  for 
you  are  still  with  me,  and  we  Ve  been  married  nearly 
half  an  hour  !  " 

"  Perhaps  we  were  married  a  thousand  years  ago  — 
I  don't  know ! "  he  answered,  drawing  her  to  him. 
"  It 's  all  a  magnificent  dream  so  far." 

"  You  must  go,  you  must  keep  your  word.  Don't 
break  the  first  promise  you  ever  made  me,  Philip." 

She  did  not  say  it  very  reproachfully,  for  his  look 
was  ardent  and  worshipful,  and  she  could  not  be  even 
a  little  austere  in  her  new  joy. 

"  I  am  going,"  he  answered.  "  We  will  go  back  to 
the  town,  I  by  the  road,  you  by  the  shore,  so  no  one 
will  see  us,  and  "  — 

"  Philip,"  said  Guida  suddenly,  "  is  it  quite  the  same 
being  married  without  banns  ?  " 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG      141 

His  laugh  had  again  a  youthful  ring  of  delight. 
"  Of  course,  just  the  same,  my  doubting  fay,"  said  he. 
"  Don't  be  frightened  about  anything.  Now  promise 
me  that  —  will  you  promise  me  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment  steadily,  her  eyes 
lingering  on  his  face  with  great  tenderness,  and  then 
she  said  :  — 

"  Yes,  Philip,  I  will  not  trouble  nor  question  any 
longer.  I  will  only  believe  that  everything  is  all 
right.  Say  good-by  to  me,  Philip.  I  am  happy  now, 
but  if  —  if  you  stay  any  longer  —  ah,  please,  please 
go,  Philip  ! " 

A  moment  afterwards  Philip  and  Shoreham  were 
entering  the  high  road,  waving  their  handkerchiefs  to 
her  as  they  went. 

She  had  gone  back  to  the  Druid's  cromlech  where 
Philip's  friend  had  sat,  and  with  smiling  lips  and 
swimming  eyes  she  watched  the  young  men  until 
they  were  lost  to  view. 

Her  eyes  wandered  over  the  sea.  How  immense 
it  was,  how  mysterious,  how  it  begot  in  one  feelings 
both  of  love  and  of  awe  !  At  this  moment  she  was 
not  in  sympathy  with  its  wonderful  calm.  There  had 
been  times  when  she  seemed  of  it,  part  of  it,  absorbed 
by  it,  till  it  flowed  over  her  soul  and  wrapped  her  in 
a  deep  content.  Now  all  was  different.  Mystery 
and  the  million  happenings  of  life  lay  hidden  in  that 
far  silver  haze.  On  the  brink  of  such  a  sea  her  mind 
seemed  to  be  hovering  now.  Nothing  was  defined, 
nothing  was  clear.  She  was  too  agitated  to  think ; 
life,  being,  was  one  wide,  vague  sensation,  partly  de- 
light, partly  trepidation.  Everything  had  a  bright 
tremulousness.  This  mystfery  was  no  dark  cloud,  it 
was  a  shaking,  glittering  mist,  and  yet  there  rose 


142     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

from  it  an  air  which  made  her  pulse  beat  hard,  her 
breath  come  with  joyous  lightness.  She  was  growing 
to  a  new  consciousness  ;  a  new  glass,  through  which 
to  see  life,  was  quickly  being  adjusted  to  her  inner 
sight. 

Many  a  time,  with  her  mother,  she  had  sat  upon 
the  shore  at  St.  Aubin's  Bay,  and  looked  out  where 
white  sails  fluttered  like  the  wings  of  restless  doves. 
Nearer,  maybe  just  beneath  her,  there  had  risen  the 
keen  singing  of  the  saw,  and  she  could  see  the  white 
flash  of  the  adze  as  it  shaped  the  beams  ;  the  skeleton 
of  a  noble  ship  being  covered  with  its  flesh  of  wood, 
and  veined  with  iron  ;  the  tall  masts  quivering  to 
their  places  as  the  workmen  hauled  at  the  pulleys, 
singing  snatches  of  patois  rhymes.  She  had  seen 
more  than  one  ship  launched,  and  a  strange  shiver  of 
pleasure  and  of  pain  had  gone  through  her;  for  as 
the  water  caught  the  graceful  figure  of  the  vessel, 
and  the  wind  bellied  out  the  sails,  it  seemed  to  her 
as  if  some  ship  of  her  own  hopes  were  going  out 
between  the  reefs  to  the  open  sea.  What  would  her 
ship  bring  back  again  to  her  ?  Or  would  anything 
ever  come  back  ? 

The  books  of  adventure,  poetry,  history,  and  myth- 
ology she  had  read  with  her  mother  had  quickened 
her  mind,  sharpened  her  intuition,  had  made  her  tem- 
perament still  more  sensitive  —  and  her  heart  less 
peaceful.  In  her  was  almost  every  note  of  human 
feeling :  home  and  duty,  song  and  gayety,  daring  and 
neighborly  kindness,  love  of  sky  and  sea  and  air  and 
orchards,  of  the  good-smelling  earth  and  wholesome 
animal  life,  and  all  the  incidents,  tragic,  comic,  or 
commonplace,  of  human  existence. 

How  wonderful  love  was,  she  thought !     How  won- 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   143 

derful  that  so  many  millions  who  had  loved  had  come 
and  gone,  and  yet  of  all  they  felt  they  had  spoken  no 
word  that  laid  bare  the  exact  feeling  to  her  or  to  any 
other.  The  barbarians  who  raised  these  very  stones 
she  sat  on,  they  had  loved  and  hated,  and  everything 
they  had  dared  or  suffered  was  recorded  —  but  where  ? 
And  who  could  know  exactly  what  they  felt  ? 

She  realized  the  almost  keenest  pain  of  life,  that 
universal  agony,  the  trying  to  speak,  to  reveal ;  and 
the  proof,  the  hourly  proof  even  the  wisest  and  most 
gifted  have,  that  what  they  feel  they  can  never  quite 
express,  by  sound,  or  by  color,  or  by  the  graven  stone, 
or  by  the  spoken  word.  .  .  .  But  life  was  good,  ah 
yes  !  and  all  that  might  be  revealed  to  her  she  would 
pray  for  ;  and  Philip  —  her  Philip  —  would  help  her 
to  the  revelation. 

Her  Philip  !  Her  heart  gave  a  great  throb,  for  the 
knowledge  that  she  was  a  wife  came  home  to  her  with 
a  pleasant  shock.  Her  name  was  no  longer  Guida 
Landresse  de  Landresse,  but  Guida  d'Avranche.  She 
had  gone  from  one  tribe  to  another,  she  had  been 
adopted,  changed.  A  new  life  was  begun. 

She  rose,  slowly  made  her  way  down  to  the  sea, 
and  proceeded  along  the  sands  and  shore-paths  to  the 
town. 

Presently  a  large  vessel,  with  new  sails,  beautiful 
white  hull,  and  gracious  form,  came  slowly  round  a 
point.  She  shaded  her  eyes  to  look  at  it. 

"  Why,  it  's  the  boat  Maitre  Ranulph  was  to  launch 
to-day,"  she  said.  Then  she  stopped  suddenly.  "  Poor 
Ranulph  !  poor  Ro  !  "  she  added  gently.  She  knew 
that  he  cared  for  her  —  loved  her.  Where  had  he  been 
these  weeks  past  ?  She  had  not  seen  him  once  since 
that  great  day  when  they  had  visited  the  Ecrehos. 


CHAPTER    XV 

THE  house  of  Elie  Mattingley  the  smuggler  stood 
in  the  Rue  d'Egypte,  not  far  east  of  the  Vier 
Prison.  It  had  belonged  to  a  jurat  of  repute,  who 
parted  with  it  to  Mattingley  not  long  before  he  died. 
There  was  no  doubt  as  to  the  validity  of  the  transfer, 
for  the  deed  was  duly  registered  au  greffe,  and  it  said, 
"  In  consideration  of  one  livre  turnois,"  etc.  Possibly 
it  was  a  libel  against  the  departed  jurat  that  he  and 
Mattingley  had  had  dealings  unrecognized  by  customs 
law,  crystallizing  at  last  into  this  legacy  to  the  famous 
pirate-smuggler. 

Unlike  any  other  in  the  street,  this  house  had  a 
high  stone  wall  in  front,  inclosing  a  small  square 
paved  with  flat  stones.  In  one  corner  was  an  ivy- 
covered  well,  with  an  antique  iron  gate,  and  the  bucket, 
hanging  on  a  hook  inside  the  fern-grown  hood,  was  an 
old  wine-keg  —  appropriate  emblem  for  a  smuggler's 
house.  In  one  corner,  girdled  by  about  five  square 
feet  of  green  earth,  grew  a  pear-tree,  bearing  large 
juicy  pears,  reserved  for  the  use  of  a  distinguished 
lodger,  the  Chevalier  du  Champsavoys  de  Beau- 
manoir. 

In  the  summer  the  Chevalier  always  had  his  break- 
fast under  this  tree.  Occasionally  one  other  person 
breakfasted  with  him,  even  Savary  dit  Detricand, 
whom,  however,  he  met  less  frequently  than  many  peo- 
ple of  the  town,  though  they  lived  in  the  same  house. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   145 

Detricand  was  but  a  fitful  lodger,  absent  at  times  for 
a  month  or  so,  and  running  up  bills  for  food  and  wine, 
of  which  payment  was  never  summarily  demanded  by 
Mattingley,  for  some  day  or  other  he  always  paid. 
When  he  did,  he  never  questioned  the  bill,  and,  what 
was  most  important,  whether  he  was  sober  or  "  warm 
as  a  thrush,"  he  always  treated  Carterette  with  re- 
spect, though  she  was  not  unsparing  with  her  tongue 
under  slight  temptation. 

Despite  their  differences  and  the  girl's  tempers, 
when  the  day  came  for  Detricand  to  leave  for  France, 
Carterette  was  unhappy.  Several  things  had  come 
at  once  :  his  going,  —  on  whom  should  she  lavish  her 
good  advice  and  biting  candor  now  ?  —  yesterday's 
business  in  the  Vier  Marchi  with  Olivier  Delagarde, 
and  the  bitter  change  in  Ranulph.  Sorrowful  reflec- 
tions and  as  sorrowful  curiosity  devoured  her. 

All  day  she  tortured  herself.  The  late  afternoon 
came,  and  she  could  bear  it  no  longer,  —  she  would 
visit  Guida.  She  was  about  to  start,  when  the  door 
in  the  garden  wall  opened  and  Olivier  Delagarde 
entered.  As  he  doffed  his  hat  to  her  she  thought 
she  had  never  seen  anything  more  beautiful  than  the 
smooth  forehead,  white  hair,  and  long  beard  of  the 
returned  patriot.  That  was  the  first  impression  ;  but 
a  closer  scrutiny  detected  the  furtive,  watery  eye, 
the  unwholesome,  drooping  mouth,  the  vicious 
teeth,  blackened  and  irregular.  There  was,  too, 
something  sinister  in  the  yellow  stockings,  luridly 
contrasting  with  the  black  knickerbockers  and  rusty 
blue  coat. 

At  first  Carterette  was  inclined  to  run  towards  the 
prophet-like  figure, — it  was  Ranulph's  father;  next 
she  drew  back  with  dislike,  —  his  smile  was  leering 


146  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

malice  under  the  guise  of  amiable  mirth.  But  he  was 
old,  and  he  looked  feeble,  so  her  mind  instantly 
changed  again,  and  she  offered  him  a  seat  on  a  bench 
beside  the  arched  doorway  with  the  superscrip- 
tion :  — 

"  Nor  Poverty  nor  Riches,  but  Daily  Bread 
Under  Mine  Own  Fig  Tree." 

After  the  custom  of  the  country,  Carterette  at 
once  offered  him  refreshment,  and  brought  him 
brandy,  —  good  old  brandy  was  always  to  be  got  at 
the  house  of  Elie  Mattingley  !  As  he  drank  she  no- 
ticed a  peculiar,  uncanny  twitching  of  the  fingers  and 
eyelids.  The  old  man's  eyes  were  continually  shift- 
ing from  place  to  place.  He  asked  Carterette  many 
questions.  He  had  known  the  house  years  before, 
—  did  the  deep  stream  still  run  beneath  it  ?  Was  the 
round  hole  still  in  the  floor  of  the  back  room,  from 
which  water  used  to  be  drawn  in  old  days  ?  Carter- 
ette replied  that  it  was  M.  Detricand's  bedroom  now, 
and  you  could  plainly  hear  the  stream  running  be- 
neath the  house.  Did  not  the  noise  of  the  water 
worry  poor  M.  Detricand  then  ?  And  so  it  still  went 
straight  on  to  the  sea,  —  and,  of  course,  much  swifter 
after  such  a  heavy  rain  as  they  had  had  the  day 
before  ! 

Carterette  took  him  into  every  room  in  the  house 
save  her  own  and  the  Chevalier's.  In  the  kitchen 
and  in  Detricand's  bedroom  Olivier  Delagarde's  eyes 
were  very  busy.  He  saw  that  the  kitchen  opened  on 
the  garden,  which  had  a  gate  in  the  rear  wall.  He 
also  saw  that  the  lozenge-paned  windows  swung  like 
doors,  and  were  not  securely  fastened ;  and  he  tried 
the  trap-door  in  Detricand's  bedroom  to  see  the 
water  flowing  beneath,  just  as  it  did  when  he  was 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   147 

young —  Yes,  there  it  was  running  swiftly  away  to 
the  sea !  Then  he  babbled  all  the  way  to  the  door 
that  led  into  the  street ;  for  now  he  would  stay  no 
longer. 

When  he  had  gone,  Carterette  sat  wondering  why 
it  was  that  Ranulph's  father  should  inspire  her  with 
such  dislike.  She  knew  that  at  this  moment  no  man 
in  Jersey  was  so  popular  as  Olivier  Delagarde.  The 
longer  she  thought  the  more  puzzled  she  became. 
No  sooner  had  she  got  one  theory  than  another  forced 
her  to  move  on.  In  the  language  of  her  people,  she 
did  not  know  on  which  foot  to  dance. 

As  she  sat  and  thought,  Detricand  entered,  loaded 
with  parcels  and  bundles.  These  were  mostly  gifts 
for  her  father  and  herself ;  and  for  du  Champsavoys 
there  was  a  fine  delft  shaving-dish,  shaped  like  a 
quarter-moon  to  fit  the  neck.  They  were  distributed, 
and  by  the  time  supper  was  over  it  was  quite  dark. 
Then  Detricand  said  his  farewells,  for  it  was  ten 
o'clock,  and  he  must  be  away  at  three,  when  his  boat 
was  to  steal  across  to  Brittany,  and  land  him  near  to 
the  outposts  of  the  Royalist  army  under  de  la  Roche- 
jaquelein.  There  were  letters  to  write,  and  packing 
yet  to  do.  He  set  to  work  gayly. 

At  last  everything  was  done,  and  he  was  stooping 
over  a  bag  to  fasten  it.  The  candle  was  in  the  win- 
dow. Suddenly  a  hand  —  a  long,  skinny  hand  — 
reached  softly  out  from  behind  a  large  press,  and 
swallowed  and  crushed  out  the  flame.  Detricand 
raised  his  head  quickly,  astonished.  There  was  no 
wind  blowing,  —  the  candle  had  not  even  flickered 
when  burning.  But  then,  again,  he  had  not  heard  a 
sound  ;  perhaps  that  was  because  his  foot  was  scraping 
the  floor  at  the  moment  the  light  went  out.  He 


148     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

looked  out  of  the  window,  but  there  was  only  star- 
light, and  he  could  not  see  distinctly.  Turning  round 
he  went  to  the  door  of  the  outer  hallway,  opened  it, 
and  stepped  into  the  garden.  As  he  did  so,  a  figure 
slipped  from  behind  the  press  in  the  bedroom,  swiftly 
raised  the  trap-door  in  the  flooring,  then,  shadowed 
by  the  door  leading  into  the  hallway,  waited  for  him. 

Presently  his  footstep  was  heard.  He  entered  the 
hall,  stood  in  the  doorway  of  the  bedroom  for  a  mo- 
ment, while  he  searched  in  his  pockets  for  a  light, 
then  stepped  inside. 

Suddenly  his  attention  was  arrested.  There  was 
the  sound  of  flowing  water  beneath  his  feet.  This 
could  always  be  heard  in  his  room,  but  now  how  loud 
it  was  !  Realizing  that  the  trap-door  must  be  open, 
he  listened  for  a  second  and  was  instantly  conscious 
of  some  one  in  the  room.  He  made  a  step  towards 
the  door,  but  it  suddenly  closed  softly.  He  moved 
swiftly  to  the  window,  for  the  presence  was  near  the 
door. 

What  did  it  mean  ?  Who  was  it  ?  Was  there  one, 
or  more  ?  Was  murder  intended  ?  The  silence,  the 
weirdness,  stopped  his  tongue ;  besides,  what  was  the 
good  of  crying  out !  Whatever  was  to  happen  would 
happen  at  once.  He  struck  a  light,  and  held  it  up. 
As  he  did  so  some  one  or  something  rushed  at  him. 
What  a  fool  he  had  been  —  the  light  had  revealed  his 
position.  But  at  the  same  moment  came  the  instinct 
to  throw  himself  to  one  side ;  which  he  did  as  the 
rush  came.  In  that  one  flash  he  had  seen  —  a  man's 
white  beard. 

Next  instant  there  was  a  sharp  sting  in  his  right 
shoulder.  The  knife  had  missed  his  breast,  —  the 
sudden  swerving  had  saved  him.  Even  as  it  struck, 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  149 

he  threw  himself  on  his  assailant.  Then  came  a 
struggle.  The  long  fingers  of  the  man  with  the  white 
beard  clove  to  the  knife  like  a  dead  soldier's  to  the 
handle  of  a  sword.  Twice  Detricand' s  hand  was 
gashed  slightly,  and  then  he  pinioned  the  wrist  of  his 
enemy,  and  tripped  him  up.  The  miscreant  fell  half 
across  the  opening  in  the  floor.  One  foot,  hanging 
down,  almost  touched  the  running  water. 

Detricand  had  his  foe  at  his  mercy.  There  was  the 
first  inclination  to  drop  him  into  the  stream,  but  that 
was  put  away  as  quickly  as  it  came.  He  gave  the 
wretch  a  sudden  twist,  pulling  him  clear  of  the  hole, 
and  wrenched  the  knife  from  his  fingers  at  the  same 
moment. 

"Now,  monsieur,"  said  he,  feeling  for  a  light,  "now 
we  '11  have  a  look  at  you." 

The  figure  lay  quiet  beneath  him.  The  nervous 
strength  was  gone,  the  body  was  limp,  the  breathing 
was  labored.  The  light  flared.  Detricand  held  it 
down,  and  there  was  revealed  the  haggard,  malicious 
face  of  Olivier  Delagarde. 

"So,  monsieur  the  traitor,"  said  Detricand,  "so 
you  'd  be  a  murderer  too  —  eh  ? " 

The  old  man  mumbled  an  oath. 

"Hand  of  the  devil,"  continued  Detricand,  "was 
there  ever  a  greater  beast  than  you  !  I  held  my 
tongue  about  you  these  eleven  years  past,  I  held  it 
yesterday  and  saved  your  paltry  life,  and  you  'd  repay 
me  by  stabbing  me  in  the  dark,  —  in  a  fine  old-fash- 
ioned way,  too,  with  your  trap-doors,  and  blown-out 
candle,  and  Italian  tricks  "  — 

He  held  the  candle  down  near  the  white  beard  as 
though  he  would  singe  it.  "  Come,  sit  up  against  the 
wall  there  and  let  me  look  at  you." 


ISO  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

Cringing,  the  old  man  drew  himself  over  to  the 
wall.  Detricand,  seating  himself  in  a  chair,  held  the 
candle  up  before  him. 

After  a  moment  he  said,  "  What  I  want  to  know 
is,  how  could  a  low-flying  cormorant  like  you  beget  a 
gull  of  the  cliffs  like  Maitre  Ranulph  ?" 

The  old  man  did  not  answer,  but  sat  blinking  with 
malignant  yet  fearful  eyes  at  Detricand,  who  contin- 
ued :  — 

"  What  did  you  come  back  for  ?  Why  did  n't  you 
stay  dead  ?  Ranulph  had  a  name  as  clean  as  a  piece 
of  paper  from  the  mill,  and  he  can't  write  it  now 
without  turning  sick,  because  it 's  the  same  name  as 
yours.  You  're  the  choice  blackamoor  of  creation, 
are  n't  you !  Now  what  have  you  got  to  say  ?  " 

"  Let  me  go,"  whined  the  old  man  with  the  white 
beard.  "  Let  me  go,  monsieur.  Don't  send  me  to 
prison." 

Detricand  stirred  him  with  his  foot,  as  one  might  a 
pile  of  dirt. 

"  Listen,"  said  he.  "  In  the  Vier  Marchi  they  're 
cutting  off  the  ear  of  a  man  and  nailing  it  to  a  post, 
because  he  ill-used  a  cow !  What  do  you  suppose 
they  'd  do  to  you,  if  I  took  you  down  there  and  told 
them  it  was  through  you  Rullecour  landed,  and  that 
you  'd  have  seen  them  all  murdered,  —  eh,  maitre  cor- 
morant ? " 

The  old  man  crawled  towards  Detricand  on  his 
knees.  "  Let  me  go,  let  me  go,"  he  whined.  "  I  was 
mad ;  I  did  n't  know  what  I  was  doing ;  I  Ve  not 
been  right  in  the  head  since  I  was  in  the  Guiana 
prison." 

At  that  moment  it  struck  Detricand  that  the  old 
man  must  have  had  some  awful  experience  in  prison. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   151 

for  now  his  eyes  had  the  most  painful  terror,  the  most 
abject  fear.  He  had  never  seen  so  craven  a  sight. 

"  What  were  you  in  prison  for  in  Guiana,  and  what 
did  they  do  to  you  there  ? "  asked  Detricand  sternly. 

Again  the  old  man  shivered  horribly,  and  tears 
streamed  down  his  cheeks,  as  he  whined  piteously,  — 

"  Oh  no,  no,  no  !  For  the  mercy  of  Christ,  no  !  " 
He  threw  up  his  hands  as  if  to  ward  off  a  blow. 

Detricand  saw  that  this  was  not  acting,  that  it  was 
a  supreme  terror,  an  awful  momentary  aberration ;  for 
the  traitor's  eyes  were  wildly  staring,  the  mouth  was 
drawn  in  agony,  the  hands  were  now  rigidly  -clutching 
an  imaginary  something,  the  body  stiffened  where  it 
crouched. 

Detricand  understood  now.  The  old  man  had  been 
tied  to  a  triangle  and  whipped,  —  how  horribly  who 
might  know  ?  His  mood  towards  the  miserable  crea- 
ture changed  ;  he  spoke  to  him  in  a  firm,  quiet  tone. 

"  There,  there,  you  're  not  going  to  be  hurt.  Be 
quiet  now,  and  you  shall  not  be  touched." 

Then  he  stooped  over,  and  quickly  undoing  the  old 
man's  waistcoat,  he  pulled  down  the  coat  and  shirt 
and  looked  at  his  back.  As  far  as  he  could  see  it 
was  scarred  as  though  by  a  red-hot  iron,  and  the 
healed  welts  were  like  whipcords  on  the  shriveled 
skin.  The  old  man  whimpered  yet,  but  he  was  grow- 
ing quieter.  Detricand  lifted  him  up,  and,  button- 
ing the  shirt  and  straightening  the  coat  again,  he 
said  :  — 

"  Now,  you  're  to  go  home  and  sleep  the  sleep  of 
the  unjust,  and  you  're  to  keep  the  sixth  command- 
ment, and  you  're  to  tell  no  more  lies;  You  Ve  made 
a  shameful  mess  of  your  son's  life,  and  you  're  to  die 
now  as  soon  as  you  can  without  attracting  notice. 


152  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

You  're  to  pray  for  an  accident  to  take  you  out  of  the 
world :  a  wind  to  blow  you  over  a  cliff,  a  roof  to  fall 
on  you,  a  boat  to  go  down  with  you,  a  hole  in  the 
ground  to  swallow  you  up,  a  fever  or  a  plague  to  end 
you  in  a  day  !  " 

He  opened  the  door  to  let  him  go ;  but  suddenly 
catching  his  arms  held  him  in  a  close  grip.  "  Hark  !  " 
he  said  in  a  mysterious  whisper. 

There  was  only  the  weird  sound  of  the  running 
water  through  the  open  trap-door  of  the  floor.  He 
knew  how  superstitious  was  every  Jersey  man,  from 
highest  to  lowest,  and  he  would  work  upon  that  weak- 
ness now. 

"  You  hear  that  water  running  to  the  sea  ? "  he  said 
solemnly.  "  You  tried  to  kill  and  drown  me  to-night. 
You  've  heard  how  when  one  man  has  drowned  another 
an  invisible  stream  follows  the  murderer  wherever  he 
goes,  and  he  hears  it,  hour  after  hour,  month  after 
month,  year  after  year,  until  suddenly  one  day  it 
comes  on  him  in  a  huge  flood,  and  he  is  found,  whether 
in  the  road,  or  in  his  bed,  or  at  the  table,  or  in  the 
field,  drowned,  and  dead  !  " 

The  old  man  shivered  violently. 

"  You  know  Manon  Moignard,  the  witch  ?  Well,  if 
you  don't  do  what  I  say  —  and  I  shall  find  out,  mind 
you  —  she  shall  bewitch  the  flood  on  you.  Be  still  ! 
.  .  .  listen  !  That  's  the  sound  you  '11  hear  every  day 
of  your  life,  if  you  break  the  promise  you  've  got  to 
make  to  me  now." 

He  spoke  the  promise  with  ghostly  deliberation, 
and  the  old  man,  all  the  desperado  gone  out  of  him, 
repeated  it  in  a  husky  voice.  Whereupon  Detricand 
led  him  into  the  garden,  saw  him  safe  out  on  the 
road,  and  watched  him  disappear.  Then  rubbing  his 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  153 

fingers,  as  though  to  rid  them  of  pollution,  with  an 
exclamation  of  disgust  he  went  back  to  the  house. 

By  another  evening  —  that  is,  at  the  hour  when 
Guida  arrived  home  after  her  secret  marriage  with 
Philip  d'Avranche  —  he  saw  the  lights  of  the  army 
of  de  la  Rochejaquelein  in  the  valley  of  the  Vendee. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

THE  night  and  morning  after  Guida's  marriage 
came  and  went.  The  day  drew  on  to  the  hour 
fixed  for  the  going  of  the  Narcissus.  Guida  had 
worked  all  forenoon  with  a  feverish  unrest,  not  trust- 
ing herself,  though  the  temptation  was  sore,  to  go 
where  she  might  see  Philip's  vessel  lying  in  the  tide- 
way. She  had  resolved  that  only  at  the  moment  fixed 
for  sailing  would  she  go  to  the  shore  ;  yet  from  her 
kitchen  door  she  could  see  a  wide  acreage  of  blue 
water  and  a  perfect  sky  ;  and  out  there  was  Noirmont 
Point,  round  which  her  husband's  ship  would  go,  and 
be  lost  to  her  vision  thereafter. 

The  day  wore  on.  She  got  her  grandfather's  din- 
ner, saw  him  bestowed  in  the  great  armchair  for  his 
afternoon  sleep,  and,  when  her  household  work  was 
done,  settled  herself  at  the  spinning-wheel. 

The  old  man  loved  to  have  her  spin  and  sing  as  he 
drowsed.  To-day  his  eyes  had  followed  her  every- 
where. He  could  not  have  told  why  it  was,  but  some- 
how all  at  once  he  seemed  to  deeply  realize  her,  —  her 
beauty,  the  joy  of  this  innocent  living  intelligence 
moving  through  his  home.  She  had  always  been 
necessary  to  him,  but  he  had  taken  her  presence  as  a 
matter  of  course.  She  had  always  been  to  him  the 
most  wonderful  child  ever  given  to  comfort  an  old 
man's  life,  but  now  as  he  abstractedly  took  a  pinch  of 
snuff  from  the  silver  box  and  then  forgot  to  put  it  to 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  155 

his  nose,  he  seemed  suddenly  to  get  that  clearness  of 
sight,  that  perspective,  from  which  he  could  see  her 
as  she  really  was.  He  took  another  pinch  of  snuff, 
and  again  forgot  to  put  it  to  his  nose,  but  brushed  im- 
aginary dust  from  his  coat,  as  was  his  wont,  and  whis- 
pered to  himself  :  — 

"  Why  now,  why  now,  I  had  not  thought  she  was 
so  much  a  woman.  Flowers  of  the  sea,  but  what 
eyes,  what  carriage,  and  what  an  air !  I  had  not 
thought  —  h'm  —  blind  old  bat  that  I  am  !  I  had  not 
thought  she  was  grown  such  a  lady.  It  was  only 
yesterday,  surely  but  yesterday,  since  I  rocked  her  to 
sleep.  Frangois  de  Mauprat,"  —  he  shook  his  head  at 
himself,  —  "  you  are  growing  old.  Let  me  see,  —  why, 
yes,  she  was  born  the  day  I  sold  the  blue  enameled 
timepiece  to  his  Highness,  the  Due  de  Mauban.  The 
Due  was  but  putting  the  watch  to  his  ear  when  a  mes- 
sage comes  to  say  the  child  there  is  born.  '  Good  ! ' 
says  the  Due  de  Mauban,  when  he  hears.  '  Give  me  the 
honor,  de  Mauprat,'  says  he,  'for  the  sake  of  old  days 
in  France,  to  offer  a  name  to  the  brave  innocent  —  for 
the  sake  of  old  associations,'  says  de  Mauban.  '  You 
knew  my  wife,  de  Mauprat,'  says  he  ;  'you  knew  the 
Duchesse  Guida,  —  Guidabaldine.  She 's  been  gone 
these  ten  years,  alas !  You  were  with  me  when  we 
were  married,  de  Mauprat,'  says  the  Due ;  '  I  should 
care  to  return  the  compliment  if  you  will  allow  me  to 
offer  a  name,  eh  ?'  '  Due,'  said  I,  'there  is  no  honor 
I  more  desire  for  my  grandchild.'  'Then  let  the  name 
of  Guidabaldine  be  somewhere  among  others  she  will 
carry,  and  —  and  I  '11  not  forget  her,  de  Mauprat,  I  '11 
not  forget  her.'  .  .  .  Eh,  eh,  I  wonder  —  I  wonder  if 
be  has  forgotten  the  little  Guidabaldine  there  ?  He 
sent  her  a  golden  cup  for  the  christening,  but  I  won- 


156  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

der  —  I  wonder  —  if  he  has  forgotten  her  since  ?  So 
quick  of  tongue,  so  bright  of  eye,  so  light  of  foot,  so 
sweet  a  face  —  if  one  could  but  be  always  young ! 
When  her  grandmother,  my  wife,  my  Julie,  when  she 
was  young  —  ah  !  she  was  fair,  fairer  than  Guida,  but 
not  so  tall  —  not  quite  so  tall.  Ah  !  "  .  .  . 

He  was  slipping  away  into  sleep  when  he  realized 
that  Guida  was  singing  :  — 

"  Spin,  spin,  belle  Mergaton  ! 

The  moon  wheels  full,  and  the  tide  flows  high, 
And  your  wedding-gown  you  must  put  it  on 
Ere  the  night  hath  no  moon  in  the  sky  — 
Gigoton  Mergaton,  spin !  " 

"  I  had  never  thought  she  was  so  much  a  woman," 
he  said  drowsily ;  "I  —  I  wonder  why  —  I  never 
noticed  it." 

He  roused  himself  again,  brushed  imaginary  snuff 
from  his  coat,  keeping  time  with  his  foot  to  the  wheel 
as  it  went  round. 

"I  —  I  suppose  she  will  wed  soon.  ...  I  had 
forgotten.  But  she  must  marry  well,  she  must  marry 
well  —  she  is  the  godchild  of  the  Due  de  Mauban. 
How  the  wheel  goes  round!  I  used  to  hear  —  her 
mother — sing  that  song,  'Gigoton,  Mergaton  —  spin 
—  spin  —  spin.' ' 

He  was  asleep. 

Guida  put  by  the  wheel,  and  left  the  house.  Pass- 
ing through  the  Rue  des  Sablons,  she  came  to  the 
shore.  It  was  high  tide.  This  was  the  time  that 
Philip's  ship  was  to  go.  She  had  dressed  herself  with 
as  much  care  as  to  what  might  please  his  eye  as 
though  she  were  going  to  meet  him  in  person.  Not 
without  reason,  for,  though  she  could  not  see  him 


THE  BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     157 

from  the  land,  she  knew  he  could  see  her  plainly 
through  his  telescope,  if  he  chose. 

She  reached  the  shore.  The  time  had  come  for 
him  to  go,  but  there  was  his  ship  at  anchor  in  the 
tideway  still.  Perhaps  the  Narcissus  was  not  going ; 
perhaps,  after  all,  Philip  was  to  remain  !  She  laughed 
with  pleasure  at  the  thought  of  that.  Her  eyes  wan- 
dered lovingly  over  the  ship  which  was  her  husband's 
home  upon  the  sea.  Just  such  another  vessel  Philip 
would  command.  At  a  word  from  him  those  guns, 
like  long,  black,  threatening  arms  thrust  out,  would 
strike  for  England  with  thunder  and  fire. 

A  bugle-call  came  across  the  still  water,  clear, 
vibrant,  and  compelling.  It  represented  power. 
Power,  —  that  was  what  Philip,  with  his  ship,  would 
stand  for  in  the  name  of  England.  Danger,  —  oh  yes, 
there  would  be  danger,  but  Heaven  would  be  good  to 
her ;  Philip  should  go  safe  through  storm  and  war, 
and  some  day  great  honors  would  be  done  him.  He 
should  be  an  admiral,  and  more  perhaps  ;  he  had  said 
so.  He  was  going  to  do  it  as  much  for  her  as  for 
himself,  and  when  he  had  done  it,  to  be  proud  of  it 
more  for  her  than  for  himself ;  he  had  said  so :  she 
believed  in  him  utterly.  Since  that  day  upon  the 
Ecrehos  it  had  never  occurred  to  her  not  to  believe 
him.  Where  she  gave  her  faith  she  gave  it  wholly  ; 
where  she  withdrew  it  — 

The  bugle-call  sounded  again.  Perhaps  that  was 
the  signal  to  set  sail.  No,  a  boat  was  putting  out 
from  the  Narcissus !  It  was  coming  landward.  As 
she  watched  its  approach  she  heard  a  chorus  of 
boisterous  voices  behind  her.  She  turned  and  saw 
nearing  the  shore  from  the  Rue  d'Egypte  a  half 
dozen  sailors,  singing  cheerily  :  — 


158  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

"  Get  you  on,  get  you  on,  get  you  on, 

Get  you  on  to  your  fo'c'stle  'ome  ; 
Leave  your  lasses,  leave  your  beer, 
For  the  bugle  what  you  'ear 

Pipes  you  on  to  your  fo'c'stle  'ome  — 
'Ome,  'ome,  'ome  — 

Pipes  you  on  to  your  fo'c'stle  'ome." 

Guida  drew  near. 

"  TKe  Narcissus  is  not  leaving  to-day  ?  "  she  asked 
of  the  foremost  sailor. 

The  man  touched  his  cap.     "  Not  to-day,  lady." 

"  When  does  she  leave  ?  " 

"  Well,  that 's  more  nor  I  can  say,  lady,  but  the 
cap'n  of  the  maintop,  yander,  'e  knows." 

She  approached  the  captain  of  the  maintop. 

"  When  does  the  Narcissus  leave  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  looked  her  up  and  down,  at  first  glance  with 
something  like  boldness,  but  instantly  he  touched 
his  hat. 

"  To-morrow,  mistress,  —  she  leaves  at  'igh  tide  to- 
morrow." 

With  an  eye  for  a  fee  or  a  bribe,  he  drew  a  little 
away  from  the  others,  and  said  to  her  in  a  low  tone  :  — 

"  Is  there  anything  what  I  could  do  for  you,  mis- 
tress ?  P'r'aps  you  wanted  some  word  carried  aboard, 
lady  ?  " 

She  hesitated  an  instant,  then  said  :  — 

"  No  —  no,  thank  you." 

He  still  waited,  however,  rubbing  his  hand  on  his 
hip  with  mock  bashfulness.  There  was  an  instant's 
pause,  then  she  divined  his  meaning. 

She  took  from  her  pocket  a  shilling.  She  had 
never  given  away  so  much  money  in  her  life  before, 
but  she  seemed  to  feel  instinctively  that  now  she 
must  give  freely  —  now  that  she  was  the  wife  of  an 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  159 

officer  of  the  navy.  Strange  how  these  sailors  to-day 
seemed  so  different  to  her  from  ever  before  ;  she 
felt  as  if  they  all  belonged  to  her  !  She  offered  the 
shilling  to  the  captain  of  the  maintop.  His  eyes 
gloated,  but  he  said  with  an  affected  surprise  :  — 

"  Oh,  I  could  n't  think  of  it,  yer  leddyship." 

"  Ah  !  but  you  will  take  it,"  she  said.  "I  —  I  have 
a  r-relative  "  —  she  hesitated  at  the  word  —  "in  the 
navy." 

"  'Ave  you  now,  yer  leddyship  ?  "  he  said.  "  Well, 
then,  I  'm  proud  to  'ave  the  shilling  to  drink  'is  'ealth, 
yer  leddyship." 

He  touched  his  hat,  and  was  about  to  turn  away. 

"  Stay  a  little,"  she  said  with  bashful  boldness.  The 
joy  of  giving  was  rapidly  growing  to  a  vice.  "  Here 's 
something  for  them,"  she  added,  nodding  towards  his 
fellows,  and  a  second  shilling  came  from  her  pocket. 

"Just  as  you  say,  yer  leddyship,"  he  said  with 
owlish  gravity  ;  "  but  for  my  part  I  think  they  Ve  'ad 
enough.  I  don't  'old  with  temptin'  the  weak  passions 
of  man." 

A  moment  afterwards  the  sailors  were  in  the  boat, 
rowing  towards  the  Narcissus.  Their  song  came  back 
across  the  water  :  — 

" .  .  .  O  you  A.  B.  sailor-man, 
Wet  your  whistle  while  you  can, 

For  the  piping  of  the  bugle  calls  you  'ome  ! 
'Ome  —  'ome  —  'ome, 

Calls  you  on  to  your  fo'c'stle  'ome  !  " 

The  evening  came  down,  and  Guida  sat  in  the 
kitchen  doorway  looking  out  over  the  sea,  and  won- 
dering why  Philip  had  sent  her  no  message.  Of 
course  he  would  not  come  himself,  he  must  not :  he 
had  promised  her.  But  how  much  she  would  have 


160     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

liked  to  see  him  for  just  one  minute,  to  feel  his  arms 
about  her,  to  hear  him  say  good-by  once  more.  Yet 
she  loved  him  the  better  for  not  coming. 

By  and  by  she  became  very  restless.  She  would 
have  been  almost  happier  if  he  had  gone  that  day : 
he  was  within  call  of  her,  still  they  were  not  to  see 
each  other.  She  walked  up  and  down  the  garden, 
Biribi,  the  dog,  by  her  side.  Sitting  down  on  the  bench 
beneath  the  apple-tree,  she  recalled  every  word  that 
Philip  had  said  to  her  two  days  before.  Every  tone 
of  his  voice,  every  look  he  had  given  her,  she  went 
over  in  her  thoughts.  There  is  no  reporting  in  the 
world  so  exact,  so  perfect,  as  that  in  a  woman's  mind, 
of  the  words,  looks,  and  acts  of  her  lover  in  the  first 
days  of  mutual  confession  and  understanding. 

It  can  come  but  once,  this  dream,  fantasy,  illusion, 
—  call  it  what  you  will  :  it  belongs  to  the  birth  hour 
of  a  new  and  powerful  feeling  ;  it  is  the  first  sunrise 
of  the  heart.  What  comes  after  may  be  the  calmer 
joy  of  a  more  truthful,  a  less  ideal  emotion,  but  the 
transitory  glory  of  the  love  and  passion  of  youth  shoots 
higher  than  all  other  glories  into  the  sky  of  time. 
The  splendor  of  youth  is  its  madness,  and  the  splen- 
dor of  that  madness  is  its  unconquerable  belief.  And 
great  is  the  strength  of  it,  because  violence  alone  can 
destroy  it.  It  does  not  yield  to  time  nor  to  decay, 
to  the  long  wash  of  experience  that  wears  away  the 
stone,  nor  to  disintegration.  It  is  always  broken  into 
pieces  at  a  blow.  In  the  morning  all  is  well,  and  ere 
the  evening  come  the  radiant  temple  is  in  ruins. 

At  night  when  Guida  went  to  bed  she  could  not 
sleep  at  first.  Then  came  a  drowsing,  a  floating  be- 
tween waking  and  sleeping,  in  which  a  hundred  swift 
images  of  her  short  past  flashed  through  her  mind. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  161 

A  butterfly  darting  in  the  white  haze  of  a  dusty 
road,  and  the  cap  of  the  careless  lad  that  struck  it 
down.  .  .  .  Berry-picking  along  the  hedges  beyond 
the  quarries  of  Mont  Mado,  and  washing  her  hands 
in  the  strange  green  pools  at  the  bottom  of  the  quar- 
ries. .  .  .  Stooping  to  a  stream  and  saying  of  it  to 
a  lad,  "  Ro,  won't  it  never  come  back  ?  "  .  .  .  From 
the  front  doorway  watching  a  poor  criminal  shrink  be- 
neath the  lash  with  which  he  was  being  flogged  from 
the  Vier  Marchi  to  the  Vier  Prison.  .  .  .  Seeing  a 
procession  of  bride  and  bridegroom,  with  young  men 
and  women  gay  in  ribbons  and  pretty  cottons,  calling 
from  house  to  house  to  receive  the  good  wishes  of 
their  friends,  and  drinking  cinnamon  wine  and  mulled 
cider,  —  the  frolic,  the  gayety  of  it  all  Now,  in  a 
room  full  of  people,  she  was  standing  on  a  veille  flour- 
ished with  posies  of  broom  and  wild  flowers,  and  Philip 
was  there  beside  her,  and  he  was  holding  her  hand, 
and  they  were  waiting  and  waiting  for  some  one 
who  never  came.  Nobody  took  any  notice  of  her 
and  Philip,  she  thought ;  they  stood  there  waiting  and 
waiting,  —  why,  there  was  M.  Savary  dit  Detricand 
in  the  doorway,  waving  a  handkerchief  at  her,  and 
saying,  "  I  've  found  it !  I  've  found  it !  "  —  and  she 
awoke  with  a  start ! 

Her  heart  was  beating  hard,  and  for  a  moment  she 
was  dazed ;  but  presently  she  went  to  sleep  again, 
and  dreamed  once  more. 

This  time  she  was  on  a  great  warship,  in  a  storm 
which  was  driving  towards  a  rocky  shore.  The  sea 
was  washing  over  the  deck.  She  recognized  the 
shore :  it  was  the  cliff  at  Plemont  in  the  north  of 
Jersey,  and  behind  the  ship  lay  the  awful  Paternos- 
ters. They  were  drifting,  drifting  on  the  wall  of 


162  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

rock.  High  above  on  the  land  there  was  a  solitary 
stone  hut.  The  ship  came  nearer  and  nearer.  The 
storm  increased  in  strength.  In  the  midst  of  the 
violence  she  looked  up  and  saw  a  man  standing  in 
the  doorway  of  the  hut.  He  turned  his  face  towards 
her :  it  was  Ranulph  Delagarde,  and  he  had  a  rope 
in  his  hand.  He  saw  her  and  called  to  her,  making 
ready  to  throw  the  rope,  but  suddenly  some  one 
drew  her  back.  She  cried  aloud,  and  then  all  grew 
black.  .  .  . 

And  then,  again,  she  knew  she  was  in  a  small,  dark 
cabin  of  the  ship.  She  could  hear  the  storm  breaking 
over  the  deck.  Now  the  ship  struck.  She  could  feel 
her  grinding  upon  the  rocks.  She  seemed  to  be  sink- 
ing, sinking—  There  was  a  knocking,  knocking  at 
the  door  of  the  cabin,  and  a  voice  calling  to  her,  — 
how  far  away  it  seemed !  .  .  .  Was  she  dying,  was 
she  drowning?  The  words  of  a  nursery  rhyme  rang 
in  her  ears  distinctly,  keeping  time  to  the  knocking. 
She  wondered  who  should  be  singing  a  nursery  rhyme 
on  a  sinking  ship  :  — 

"  La  mam  morte, 
La  main  morte, 
Tapp1  a  laporte, 
Tapp'  a  la  ported 

She  shuddered.  Why  should  the  dead  hand  tap  at 
her  door  !  Yet  there  it  was  tapping  louder,  louder. 
.  .  .  She  struggled,  she  tried  to  cry  out,  then  suddenly 
she  grew  quiet,  and  the  tapping  got  fainter  and  fainter ; 
her  eyes  opened :  she  was  awake. 

For  an  instant  she  did  not  know  where  she  was. 
Was  it  a  dream  still  ?  For  there  was  a  tapping,  tap- 
ping at  her  door  —  no,  it  was  at  the  window.  A  shiver 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  163 

ran  through  her  from  head  to  foot.  Her  heart  almost 
stopped  beating.  Some  one  was  calling  to  her. 

"Guida!  Guida!" 

It  was  Philip's  voice.  Her  cheek  had  been  cold 
the  moment  before ;  now  she  felt  the  blood  tingling 
in  her  face.  She  slid  to  the  floor,  threw  a  shawl 
round  her,  and  went  to  the  casement. 

The  tapping  began  again.  For  a  moment  she  could 
not  open  the  window.  She  was  trembling  from  head 
to  foot.  Philip's  voice  reassured  her  a  little. 

"  Guida,  Guida,  open  the  window  a  minute  !  " 

She  hesitated.  She  could  not  —  no  —  she  could  not 
do  it.  He  tapped  still  louder. 

"  Guida,  don't  you  hear  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  undid  the  catch,  but  she  had  hardly  the  cour- 
age even  yet.  He  heard  her  now,  and  pressed  the 
window  a  little.  Then  she  opened  it  slowly,  and  her 
white  face  showed. 

"O  Philip,"  she  said  breathlessly,  "why  have  you 
frightened  me  so  ? " 

He  caught  her  hand  in  his  own.  "  Come  out  into 
the  garden,  sweetheart,"  he  said,  and  he  kissed  the 
hand. 

"  Put  on  a  dress  and  your  slippers  and  come,"  he 
urged  again. 

"  Philip,"  she  said,  "  O  Philip,  I  cannot !  It  is  too 
late.  It  is  midnight.  Do  not  ask  me.  Oh,  why  did 
you  come  ? " 

"  Because  I  wanted  to  speak  with  you  for  one 
minute.  I  have  only  a  little  while.  Please  come  out- 
side and  say  good-by  to  me  again.  We  are  sailing 
to-morrow  ;  there  's  no  doubt  about  it  this  time." 

"  O  Philip,"  she  answered,  her  voice  quivering, 
"  how  can  I  ?  Say  good-by  to  me  here,  now." 


164  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

"  No,  no,  Guida,  you  must  come.  I  can't  kiss  you 
good-by  where  you  are." 

"  Must  I  come  to  you  ? "  she  said  helplessly.  "  Well 
then,  Philip,"  she  added,  "go  to  the  bench  by  the 
apple-tree,  and  I  shall  be  there  in  a  moment." 

"  Dearest !  "  he  exclaimed  ardently. 

She  shut  the  window  slowly. 

For  a  moment  he  looked  about  him ;  then  went 
lightly  through  the  garden,  and  sat  down  on  the 
bench  under  the  apple-tree,  near  to  the  summer-house. 
At  last  he  heard  her  footstep.  He  rose  quickly  to 
meet  her,  and  as  she  came  timidly  to  him,  clasped 
her  in  his  arms. 

"Philip,"  she  said,  "this  isn't  right.  You  ought 
not  to  have  come;  you  have  broken  your  promise." 

"  Are  you  not  glad  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  know,  you  know  that  I  'm  glad  to  see 
you,  but  you  should  n't  have  come  —  Hark  !  what 's 
that  ? " 

They  both  held  their  breath,  for  there  was  a  sound 
outside  the  garden  wall.  Clac-clac  !  clac-clac  !  —  a 
strange,  uncanny  footstep.  It  seemed  to  be  hurrying 
away,  —  clac-clac  !  clac-clac  ! 

"Ah,  I  know,"  whispered  Guida;  "it  is  Dormy 
Jamais.  How  foolish  of  me  to  be  afraid  !  " 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  said  Philip,  —  "  Dormy 
Jamais,  the  man  who  never  sleeps." 

"  Philip  —  if  he  saw  us  !  " 

"  Foolish  child,  the  garden  wall  is  too  high  for  that. 
Besides  "  - 

"Yes,  Philip?" 

"  Besides,  you  are  my  wife,  Guida !  " 

"  Oh  no,  Philip,  no ;  not  really  so  until  all  the  world 
is  told." 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  165 

"My  beloved  Guida,  what  difference  can  that 
make  ? " 

She  sighed  and  shook  her  head.  "  To  me,  Philip, 
it  is  only  that  which  makes  it  right,  —  that  the  whole 
world  knows.  Ah,  Philip,  I  am  so  afraid  of  —  of 
secrecy,  and  cheating." 

"  Nonsense  !  nonsense !  "  he  answered.  "  Poor  little 
wood-bird,  you  're  frightened  at  nothing  at  all.  Come 
and  sit  by  me."  He  drew  her  close  to  him. 

Her  trembling  presently  grew  less.  Hundreds  of 
glowworms  were  shimmering  in  the  hedge.  The 
grasshoppers  were  whirring  in  the  mielles  beyond ;  a 
flutter  of  wings  went  by  overhead.  The  leaves  were 
rustling  gently ;  a  fresh  wind  was  coming  up  from  the 
sea  upon  the  soft,  fragrant  dusk. 

They  talked  a  little  while  in  whispers,  her  hands  in 
his,  his  voice  soothing  her,  his  low,  hurried  words  giv- 
ing her  no  time  to  think.  But  presently  she  shivered 
again,  though  her  heart  was  throbbing  hotly. 

"  Come  into  the  summer-house,  Guida ;  you  are 
cold,  you  are  shivering."  He  rose,  with  his  arm  round 
her  waist,  raising  her  gently  at  the  same  time. 

"  Oh  no,  Philip  dear,"  she  said,  "  I  'm  not  really 
cold  —  I  don't  know  what  it  is  "  — 

"  But  indeed  you  are  cold,"  he  answered.  "  There 's 
a  stiff  south-easter  rising,  and  your  hands  are  like  ice. 
Come  into  the  arbor  for  a  minute.  It 's  warm  there, 
and  then  —  then  we  '11  say  good-by,  sweetheart !  " 

His  arm  round  her,  he  drew  her  with  him  to  the 
summer-house,  talking  to  her  tenderly  all  the  time. 
There  were  reassurance,  comfort,  loving  care  in  his 
very  tones. 

How  brightly  the  stars  shone !  How  clearly  the 
music  of  the  stream  came  over  the  hedge !  With 


166  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

what  lazy  restfulness  the  distant  All's  well !  floated 
across  the  mielles  from  a  ship  at  anchor  in  the  tide- 
way !  How  like  a  slumber-song  the  wash  of  the  sea 
rolled  drowsily  along  the  wind  !  How  gracious  the 
smell  of  the  earth,  drinking  up  the  dew  of  the  afflu- 
ent air,  which  the  sun,  on  the  morrow,  should  turn 
into  life-blood  for  the  grass  and  trees  and  flowers  ! 


CHAPTER   XVII 

PHILIP  was  gone.  Before  breakfast  was  set  upon 
the  table,  Guida  saw  the  Narcissus  sail  round 
Noirmont  Point  and  disappear. 

Her  face  had  taken  on  a  new  expression  since  yes- 
terday. An  old  touch  of  dreaminess,  of  vague  antici- 
pation was  gone  —  that  look  which  belongs  to  youth, 
which  feels  the  confident  charm  of  the  unknown  future. 
Life  was  revealed  ;  but,  together  with  joy,  wonder  and 
pain  informed  the  revelation. 

A  marvel  was  upon  her.  Her  life  was  linked  to 
another's,  she  was  a  wife.  She  was  no  longer  sole 
captain  of  herself.  Philip  would  signal,  and  she  must 
come  until  either  he  or  she  should  die.  He  had  taken 
her  hand,  and  she  must  never  let  it  go  ;  the  breath  of 
his  being  must  henceforth  give  her  new  and  healthy 
life,  or  inbreed  a  fever  which  should  corrode  the  heart 
and  burn  away  the  spirit.  Young  though  she  was, 
she  realized  it,  but  without  defining  it.  The  new- 
found knowledge  was  diffused  in  her  character,  ex- 
pressed in  her  face. 

Seldom  had  a  day  of  Guida's  life  been  so  busy.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  people  came  and  went  far  more 
than  usual.  She  talked,  she  laughed  a  little,  she  an- 
swered back  the  pleasantries  of  the  seafaring  folk  who 
passed  her  doorway  or  her  garden.  She  was  attentive 
to  her  grandfather ;  exact  with  her  household  duties. 
But  all  the  time  she  was  thinking  —  thinking  —  think- 


168  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

ing.  Now  and  again  she  smiled,  but  at  times,  too, 
tears  sprang  to  her  eyes,  to  be  quickly  dried.  More 
than  once  she  drew  in  her  breath  with  a  quick,  sibilant 
sound,  as  though  some  thought  wounded  her ;  and  she 
flushed  suddenly,  then  turned  pale,  then  came  to  her 
natural  color  again. 

Among  those  who  chanced  to  visit  the  cottage  was 
Maitresse  Aimable.  She  came  to  ask  Guida  to  go 
with  her  and  Jean  to  the  island  of  Sark,  twelve  miles 
away,  where  Guida  had  never  been.  They  would  only 
be  gone  one  night,  and,  as  Maitresse  Aimable  said,  the 
Sieur  de  Mauprat  could  very  well  make  shift  for  once. 

The  invitation  came  to  Guida  like  water  to  thirsty 
ground.  She  longed  to  get  away  from  the  town,  to 
be  where  she  could  breathe ;  for  all  this  day  the  earth 
seemed  too  small  for  breath  :  she  gasped  for  the  sea, 
to  be  alone  there.  To  sail  with  Jean  Touzel  was 
practically  to  be  alone,  for  Maitresse  Aimable  never 
talked  ;  and  Jean  knew  Guida's  ways,  knew  when  she 
wished  to  be  quiet.  In  Jersey  phrase,  he  saw  beyond 
his  spectacles,  —  great  brass-rimmed  things,  giving  a 
droll,  childlike  kind  of  wisdom  to  his  red  rotund  face. 

Having  issued  her  invitation,  Maitresse  Aimable 
smiled  placidly  and  seemed  about  to  leave,  when,  all 
at  once,  without  any  warning,  she  lowered  herself  like 
a  vast  crate  upon  the  veille,  and  sat  there  looking  at 
Guida. 

At  first  the  grave  inquiry  of  her  look  startled  Guida. 
She  was  beginning  to  know  that  sensitive  fear  assail- 
ing those  tortured  by  a  secret.  How  she  loathed  this 
secrecy !  How  guilty  she  now  felt,  where,  indeed,  no 
guilt  was !  She  longed  to  call  aloud  her  name,  her 
new  name,  from  the  housetops. 

The  voice  of  Maitresse  Aimable  roused  her.     Her 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  169 

ponderous  visitor  had  made  a  discovery  which  had 
yet  been  made  by  no  other  human  being.  Her  own 
absurd  romance,  her  ancient  illusion,  had  taught  her 
to  know  when  love  lay  behind  another  woman's  face. 
And  after  her  fashion,  Maitresse  Aimable  loved  Jean 
Touzel  as  it  is  given  to  few  to  love. 

"  I  was  sixteen  when  I  fell  in  love ;  you  're  seven- 
teen —  you !  "  she  said.  "  Ah  bah,  so  it  goes !  " 

Guida's  face  crimsoned.  What  —  how  much  did 
Maitresse  Aimable  know  ?  By  what  necromancy  had 
this  fat,  silent  fisher-wife  learned  the  secret  which  was 
the  heart  of  her  life,  the  soul  of  her  being  —  which 
was  Philip.  She  was  frightened,  but  danger  made  her 
cautious.  "  Can  you  guess  who  it  is  ? "  she  asked, 
without  replying  directly  to  the  oblique  charge. 

"  It  is  not  Maitre  Ranulph,"  answered  her  friendly 
inquisitor ;  "  it  is  not  that  M'sieu'  D&ricand,  the 
vaurien."  Guida  flushed  with  annoyance.  "  It  is  not 
that  farmer  Blampied,  with  fifty  vergees,  all  potatoes ; 
it  is  not  M'sieu'  Janvrin,  that  bat'd'lagoule  of  an 
6crivain.  Ah  bah,  so  it  goes  !  " 

"  Who  is  it  then  ?  "  persisted  Guida. 

"  Eh  ben,  that  is  the  thing !  " 

"  How  can  you  tell  that  one  is  in  love,  Maitresse 
Aimable?"  persisted  Guida. 

The  other  smiled  with  a  torturing  placidity,  then 
opened  her  mouth ;  but  nothing  came  of  it.  She 
watched  Guida  moving  about  the  kitchen  abstractedly. 
Her  eye  wandered  to  the  racllyi,  with  its  flitches  of 
bacon,  to  the  dreschiaux  and  the  sanded  floor,  to  the 
great  Elizabethan  oak  chair,  and  at  last  back  to  Guida, 
as  though  through  her  the  lost  voice  might  be  charmed 
up  again. 

The  eyes  of  the  two  met  now,  fairly,  firmly ;  and 


1 70  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

Guida  was  conscious  of  a  look  in  the  other's  face  which 
she  had  never  seen  before.  Had  then  a  new  sight 
been  given  to  herself  ?  She  saw  and  understood  the 
look  in  Maitresse  Aimable's  face,  and  instantly  knew 
it  to  be  the  same  that  was  in  her  own. 

With  a  sudden  impulse  she  dropped  the  bashin  she 
was  polishing,  and,  going  over  quickly,  she  silently 
laid  her  cheek  against  her  old  friend's.  She  could 
feel  the  huge  breast  heave,  she  felt  the  vast  face  turn 
hot,  she  was  conscious  of  a  voice  struggling  back  to 
life,  and  she  heard  it  say  at  last  :  — 

"  Gatd'en'ale  !  rosemary  tea  cures  a  cough,  but  no- 
thing cures  the  love.  Ah  bah,  so  it  goes  ! " 

"  Do  you  love  Jean  ?  "  whispered  Guida,  not  show- 
ing her  face,  but  longing  to  hear  the  experience  of 
another  who  suffered  that  joy  called  love. 

Maitresse  Aimable's  face  grew  hotter ;  she  did  not 
speak,  but  patted  Guida's  back  with  her  heavy  hand 
and  nodded  complacently. 

"  Have  you  always  loved  him  ?  "  asked  Guida  again, 
with  an  eager  inquisition,  akin  to  that  of  a  wayside 
sinner  turned  chapel-going  saint,  hungry  to  hear  what 
chanced  to  others  when  treading  the  primrose  path. 

Maitresse  Aimable  again  nodded,  and  her  arm 
drew  closer  about  Guida.  There  was  a  slight  pause, 
then  came  an  unsophisticated  question  :  — 

"Has  Jean  always  loved  you  ?  " 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  the  voice  said  with 
the  deliberate  prudence  of  an  unwilling  witness :  — 

"  It  is  not  the  man  who  wears  the  wedding-ring." 

Then,  as  if  she  had  been  disloyal  in  even  suggest- 
ing that  Jean  might  hold  her  lightly,  she  added,  al- 
most eagerly, — an  enthu'siasm  tempered  by  the  pathos 
of  a  half-truth  :  — 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  171 

"  But  my  Jean  always  sleeps  at  home." 

This  larger  excursion  into  speech  gave  her  courage, 
and  she  said  more  ;  and  even  as  Guida  listened  hun- 
grily, —  so  soon  had  come  upon  her  the  apprehensions 
and  wavering  moods  of  loving  woman !  —  she  was 
wondering  to  hear  this  creature,  considered  so  dull  by 
all,  speak  as  though  out  of  a  watchful  and  capable 
mind.  What  further  Maitresse  Aimable  said  was 
proof  that  if  she  knew  little  and  spake  little,  she  knew 
that  little  well ;  and  if  she  had  gathered  meagrely 
from  life,  she  had  at  least  winnowed  out  some  small 
handfuls  of  grain  from  the  straw  and  chaff.  At  last 
her  sagacity  impelled  her  to  say  :  — 

"  If  a  man's  eyes  won't  see,  elder-water  can't  make 
him  ;  if  he  will,  —  ah  bah,  glad  and  good !  "  Both 
arms  went  round  Guida,  and  hugged  her  awkwardly. 

Her  voice  came  up  but  once  more  that  morning. 
As  she  left  Guida  in  the  doorway,  she  said  with  a  last 
effort :  - 

"  I  will  have  one  bead  to  pray  for  you,  trejous." 
She  showed  her  rosary,  and,  Huguenot  though  she 
was,  Guida  touched  the  bead  reverently.  "And  if 
there  is  war,  I  will  have  two  beads,  trejous.  A  bi'tot 
— good-by !" 

Guida  stood  watching  her  from  the  doorway,  and 
the  last  words  of  the  fisher-wife  kept  repeating  them- 
selves through  her  brain:  "And  if  there  is  war,  I 
will  have  two  beads,  trejous  !  " 

So,  Maitresse  Aimable  knew  she  loved  Philip ! 
How  strange  it  was  that  one  should  read  so  truly 
without  words  spoken,  or  through  seeing  acts  which 
reveal.  She  herself  seemed  to  read  Maitresse  Aima- 
ble all  at  once,  —  read  her  by  virtue,  and  in  the  light 


i;2  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

of  true  love,  the  primitive  and  consuming  feeling  in 
the  breast  of  each  for  a  man.  Were  not  words  neces- 
sary for  speech  after  all  ?  But  here  she  stopped  short 
suddenly ;  for  if  love  might  find  and  read  love,  why 
was  it  she  needed  speech  of  Philip  ?  Why  was  it  her 
spirit  kept  beating  up  against  the  hedge  beyond  which 
his  inner  self  was,  and,  unable  to  see  that  beyond, 
needed  reassurance  by  words,  by  promises  and  protes- 
tations ? 

All  at  once  she  was  angry  with  herself  for  thinking 
thus  concerning  Philip.  Of  course  Philip  loved  her 
deeply.  Had  she  not  seen  the  light  of  true  love  in 
his  eyes,  and  felt  the  arms  of  love  about  her  ?  Sud- 
denly she  shuddered  and  grew  bitter,  and  a  strange 
rebellion  broke  loose  in  her.  Why  had  Philip  failed 
to  keep  his  promise  not  to  see  her  again  after  the 
marriage,  till  he  should  return  from  Portsmouth  ?  It 
was  selfish,  painfully,  terribly  selfish  of  him.  Why, 
even  though  she  had  been  foolish  in  her  request,  why 
had  he  not  done  as  she  wished  ?  Was  that  love,  — 
was  it  love  to  break  the  first  promise  he  had  ever 
made  to  his  wife  ? 

Yet  she  excused  him  to  herself.  Men  were  differ- 
ent from  women,  and  men  did  not  understand  what 
troubled  a  woman's  heart  and  spirit ;  they  were  not 
shaken  by  the  same  gusts  of  emotion  ;  they  —  they 
were  not  so  fine,  they  did  not  think  so  deeply  on  what 
a  woman,  when  she  loves,  thinks  always,  and  acts  upon 
according  to  her  thought.  If  Philip  were  only  here 
to  resolve  these  fears,  these  perplexities,  to  quiet  the 
storm  in  her  !  And  yet,  could  he  —  could  he  ?  For 
now  she  felt  that  this  storm  was  rooting  up  something 
very  deep  and  radical  in  her.  It  frightened  her,  but 
for  the  moment  she  fought  it  down. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  173 

She  went  into  her  garden;  and  here  among  her 
animals  and  her  flowers  it  seemed  easier  to  be  gay  of 
heart ;  and  she  laughed  a  little,  and  was  most  tender 
and  pretty  with  her  grandfather  when  he  came  home 
from  spending  the  afternoon  with  the  Chevalier. 

In  this  manner  the  first  day  of  her  marriage  passed, 
• — in  happy  reminiscence  and  in  vague  foreboding; 
in  affection,  yet  in  reproach  as  the  secret  wife ;  and 
still  the  loving,  distracted  girl,  frightened  at  her  own 
bitterness,  but  knowing  it  to  be  justified. 

The  late  evening  was  spent  in  gayety  with  her 
grandfather  and  the  Chevalier  ;  but  at  night  when  she 
went  to  bed  she  could  not  sleep.  She  tossed  from 
side  to  side ;  a  hundred  thoughts  came  and  went. 
She  grew  feverish,  her  breath  choked  her,  and  she 
got  up  and  opened  the  window.  It  was  clear,  bright 
moonlight,  and  from  where  she  was  she  could  see  the 
mielles  and  the  ocean  and  the  star-sown  sky  above 
and  beyond.  There  she  sat  and  thought  and  thought 
till  morning. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

AT  precisely  the  same  moment  in  the  morning  two 
boats  set  sail  from  the  south  coast  of  Jersey : 
one  from  Grouville  Bay,  and  one  from  the  harbor  of 
St.  Heliers.  Both  were  bound  for  the  same  point ; 
but  the  first  was  to  sail  round  the  east  coast  of  the 
Island,  and  the  second  round  the  west  coast. 

The  boat  leaving  Grouville  Bay  would  have  on  her 
right  the  Ecrehos  and  the  coast  of  France,  with  the 
Dirouilles  in  her  course ;  the  other  would  have  the 
wide  Atlantic  on  her  left,  and  the  Paternosters  in  her 
course.  The  two  converging  lines  should  meet  at  the 
island  of  Sark. 

The  boat  leaving  Grouville  Bay  was  a  yacht  carry- 
ing twelve  swivel-guns,  bringing  Admiralty  dispatches 
to  the  Channel  Islands.  The  boat  leaving  St.  Heliers 
harbor  was  a  new  yawl-rigged  craft  owned  by  Jean 
Touzel.  It  was  the  fruit  of  ten  years'  labor,  and  he 
called  her  the  Hardi  Biaou,  which,  in  plain  English, 
means  "very  beautiful."  This  was  the  third  time  she 
had  sailed  under  Jean's  hand.  She  carried  two  car- 
ronades,  for  war  with  France  was  in  the  air,  and  it 
was  Jean's  whim  to  make  a  show  of  preparation,  for, 
as  he  said,  "  If  the  war-dogs  come,  my  pups  can  bark, 
too.  If  they  don't,  why,  glad  and  good,  the  Hardi 
Biaou  is  big  enough  to  hold  the  cough-drops." 

The  business  of  the  yacht  Dorset  was  important : 
that  was  why  so  small  a  boat  was  sent  on  the  Admi- 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  175 

ralty's  affairs.  Had  she  been  a  sloop  she  might  have 
attracted  the  attention  of  a  French  frigate  or  privateer 
wandering  the  seas  in  the  interests  of  Vive  la  Nation  ! 
The  business  of  the  yawl  was  quite  unimportant.  Jean 
Touzel  was  going  to  Sark  with  kegs  of  wine  and 
tobacco  for  the  seigneur,  and  to  bring  over  whatever 
small  cargo  might  be  waiting  for  Jersey.  The  yacht 
Dorset  had  aboard  her  the  Reverend  Lorenzo  Dow, 
an  old  friend  of  her  commander.  He  was  to  be 
dropped  at  Sark,  and  was  to  come  back  with  Jean 
Touzel  in  the  Hardi  Biaou,  the  matter  having  been 
arranged  the  evening  before  in  the  Vier  Marchi.  The 
saucy  yawl  had  aboard  Maitresse  Aimable,  Guida,  and 
a  lad  to  assist  Jean  in  working  the  sails.  Guida  counted 
as  one  of  the  crew,  for  there  was  little  in  the  handling 
of  a  boat  she  did  not  know. 

As  the  Hardi  Biaou  was  leaving  the  harbor  of  St. 
Heliers,  Jean  told  Guida  that  Mr.  Dow  was  to  join 
them  on  the  return  journey.  She  had  a  thrill  of 
excitement,  for  this  man  was  privy  to  her  secret,  he 
was  connected  with  her  life  history.  But  before  the 
little  boat  passed  St.  Brelade's  Bay  she  was  lost  in 
other  thoughts  :  in  picturing  Philip  on  the  Narcissus, 
in  inwardly  conning  the  ambitious  designs  of  his 
career.  What  he  might  yet  be,  who  could  tell !  She 
had  read  more  than  a  little  of  the  doings  of  great 
naval  commanders,  both  French  and  British.  She 
knew  how  simple  midshipmen  had  sometimes  become 
admirals,  and  afterwards  peers  of  the  realm. 

Suddenly  a  new  thought  came  to  her.  Suppose 
that  Philip  should  rise  to  high  places,  would  she  be 
able  to  follow  ?  What  had  she  seen ;  what  did  she 
know ;  what  social  opportunities  had  been  hers  ?  How 
would  she  fit  with  an  exalted  station  ? 


1 76     THE   BATTLE    OF  THE   STRONG 

Yet  Philip  had  said  that  she  could  take  her  place 
anywhere  with  grace  and  dignity ;  and  surely  Philip 
knew.  If  she  were  gauche  or  crude  in  manners,  he 
would  not  have  cared  for  her ;  if  she  were  not  intelli- 
gent, he  would  scarcely  have  loved  her.  Of  course 
she  had  read  French  and  English  to  some  purpose ; 
she  could  speak  Spanish,  —  her  grandfather  had  taught 
her  that ;  she  understood  Italian  fairly,  —  she  had 
read  it  aloud  on  Sunday  evenings  with  the  Chevalier. 
Then  there  were  Corneille,  Shakespeare,  Petrarch,  Cer- 
vantes, —  she  had  read  them  all ;  and  even  Wace,  the 
old  Norman  trouvtre,  whose  "  Roman  du  Rou "  she 
knew  almost  by  heart.  Was  she  so  very  ignorant  ? 

There  was  only  one  thing  to  do  :  she  must  interest 
herself  in  what  interested  Philip  ;  she  must  read  what 
he  read ;  she  must  study  naval  history ;  she  must 
learn  every  little  thing  about  a  ship  of  war.  Then 
Philip  would  be  able  to  talk  with  her  of  all  he  did  at 
sea,  and  she  would  understand. 

When,  a  few  days  ago,  she  had  said  to  him  that 
she  did  not  know  how  she  was  going  to  be  all  that 
his  wife  ought  to  be,  he  had  answered  her  :  "  All  I 
ask  is  that  you  be  your  own  sweet  self,  for  it  is  just 
you  that  I  want,  you  with  your  own  thoughts  and 
imaginings,  and  not  a  Guida  who  has  dropped  her  own 
way  of  looking  at  things  to  take  on  some  one  else's  — 
even  mine.  It 's  the  people  who  try  to  be  clever  who 
never  are  ;  the  people  who  are  clever  never  think  of 
trying  to  be." 

Was  Philip  right  ?  Was  she  really,  in  some  way, 
a  little  bit  clever  ?  She  would  like  to  believe  so,  for 
then  she  would  be  a  better  companion  for  him. 
After  all,  how  little  she  knew  of  Philip  —  now,  why 
did  that  thought  always  come  up !  It  made  her 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     177 

shudder.  They  two  would  really  have  to  begin  with 
the  A  B  C  of  understanding.  To  understand  was 
a  passion,  it  was  breathing  and  life  to  her.  She 
would  never,  could  never,  be  satisfied  with  skimming 
the  surface  of  life  as  the  gulls  out  there  skimmed  the 
water.  .  .  .  Ah,  how  beautiful  the  morning  was,  and 
how  the  bracing  air  soothed  her  feverishness  !  All 
this  sky,  and  light,  and  uplifting  sea  were  hers,  they 
fed  her  with  their  strength  —  they  were  all  so  com- 
panionable. 

Since  Philip  had  gone  —  and  that  was  but  four 
days  ago  —  she  had  sat  down  a  dozen  times  to  write 
to  him,  but  each  time  found  she  could  not.  She 
drew  back  from  it  because  she  wanted  to  empty  out 
her  heart,  and  yet,  somehow,  she  dared  not.  She 
wanted  to  tell  Philip  all  the  feelings  that  possessed 
her  ;  but  how  dared  she  write  j  ust  what  she  felt  :  love 
and  bitterness,  joy  and  indignation,  exaltation  and 
disappointment,  all  in  one  ?  How  was  it  these  could 
all  exist  in  a  woman's  heart  at  once  ?  Was  it  be- 
cause Love  was  greater  than  all,  deeper  than  all,  over- 
came all,  forgave  all  ?  and  was  that  what  women  felt 
and  did  always  ?  Was  that  their  lot,  their  destiny  ? 
Must  they  begin  in  blind  faith,  then  be  plunged  into 
the  darkness  of  disillusion,  shaken  by  the  storm  of 
emotion,  taste  the  sting  in  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of 
knowledge  —  and  go  on  again  the  same,  yet  not  the 
same  ? 

More  or  less  incoherently  these  thoughts  flitted 
through  Guida's  mind.  As  yet  her  experiences  were 
too  new  for  her  to  fasten  securely  upon  their  meaning. 
In  a  day  or  two  she  would  write  to  Philip  freely  and 
warmly  of  her  love  and  of  her  hopes ;  for,  maybe,  by 
that  time  nothing  but  happiness  would  be  left  in  the 


1 78  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

caldron  of  feeling.  There  was  a  packet  going  to 
England  in  three  days  —  yes,  she  would  wait  for  that. 
And  Philip  —  alas  !  a  letter  from  him  could  not  reach 
her  for  at  least  a  fortnight  yet ;  and  then  in  another 
month  after  that  he  would  be  with  her,  and  she 
would  be  able  to  tell  the  whole  world  that  she  was 
the  wife  of  Captain  Philip  d'Avranche,  of  the  good 
ship  Araminta,  —  for  that  he  was  to  be  when  he  came 
again. 

She  was  not  sad  now,  indeed  she  was  almost  happy, 
for  her  thoughts  had  brought  her  so  close  to  Philip 
that  she  could  feel  his  blue  eyes  looking  at  her,  the 
strong  clasp  of  his  hand.  She  could  almost  touch 
the  brown  hair  waving  back  carelessly  from  the  fore- 
head, untouched  by  powder,  in  the  fashion  of  the  time ; 
and  she  could  hear  his  cheery  laugh  quite  plainly,  so 
complete  was  the  illusion. 

St.  Ouen's  Bay,  1'Etacq,  Plemont,  dropped  behind 
them  as  they  sailed.  They  drew  on  to  where  the 
rocks  of  the  Paternosters  foamed  to  the  unquiet  sea. 
Far  over  between  the  Nez  du  Guet  and  the  sprawling 
granite  pack  of  the  Dirou'flles,  was  the  Admiralty 
yacht  winging  to  the  nor '-west.  Beyond  it  again  lay 
the  coast  of  France,  the  tall  white  cliffs,  the  dark 
blue  smoky  curve  ending  in  Cap  de  la  Hague. 

To-day  there  was  something  new  in  this  picture  of 
the  coast  of  France.  Against  the  far-off  sands  were 
some  little  black  spots,  seemingly  no  bigger  than  a 
man's  hand.  Again  and  again  Jean  Touzel  had  eyed 
these  moving  specks  with  serious  interest ;  and  Mai- 
tresse  Aimable  eyed  Jean,  for  Jean  never  looked  so 
often  at  anything  without  good  reason.  If,  perchance, 
he  looked  three  times  at  her  consecutively,  she  gaped 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  179 

with  expectation,  hoping  that  he  would  tell  her  that 
her  face  was  not  so  red  to-day  as  usual,  —  a  mark  of 
rare  affection. 

At  last  Guida  noticed  Jean's  look.  "What  is  it 
that  you  see,  Maitre  Jean  ? "  she  said. 

"  Little  black  wasps,  I  think,  ma'm'selle,  little  black 
wasps  that  sting." 

Guida  did  not  understand. 

Jean  gave  a  curious  cackle,  and  continued :  "  Ah, 
those  wasps,  —  they  have  a  sting  so  nasty!"  He 
paused  an  instant,  then  he  added  in  a  lower  voice, 
and  not  quite  so  gayly,  "Yon  is  the  way  that  war 
begins." 

Guida's  fingers  suddenly  clinched  rigidly  upon  the 
tiller.  "  War  ?  Do  —  do  you  think  that 's  a  French 
fleet,  Maitre  Jean  ?  " 

"  Steadee  —  steadee  —  keep  her  head  up,  ma'm'- 
selle," he  answered,  for  Guida  had  steered  unsteadily 
for  the  instant.  "  Steadee  —  shale  ben !  that 's  right. 
I  remember  twenty  years  ago  the  black  wasps  they 
fly  on  the  coast  of  France  like  that.  Who  can  tell 
now  ?"  He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  P'rhaps  they 
are  coum  out  to  play,  but  see  you,  when  there  is 
trouble  in  the  nest  it  is  my  notion  that  wasps  come 
out  to  sting.  Look  at  France  now,  they  all  fight 
each  other  there,  ma  fuifre  !  When  folks  begin  to 
slap  faces  at  home,  look  out  when  they  get  into  the 
street.  That  is  when  the  devil  have  a  grand  fete." 

Guida's  face  grew  paler  as  he  spoke.  The  eyes  of 
Maitresse  Aimable  were  fixed  on  her  now,  and  uncon- 
sciously the  ponderous  good-wife  felt  in  that  ware- 
house she  called  her  pocket  for  her  rosary.  An  extra 
bead  was  there  for  Guida,  and  one  for  another  than 
Guida.  But  Maitresse  Aimable  did  more  :  she  dived 


i8o  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

into  the  well  of  silence  for  her  voice,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life  she  showed  anger  with  Jean.  As  her 
voice  came  forth  she  colored,  her  cheeks  expanded, 
and  the  words  sallied  out  in  puffs  :  — 

"Nannin,  Jean,  you  smell  shark  when  it  is  but 
herring.  You  cry  wasp  when  the  critchett  sing.  I 
will  believe  war  when  I  see  the  splinters  fly —  me ! " 

Jean  looked  at  his  wife  in  astonishment.  That  was 
the  longest  speech  he  had  ever  heard  her  make.  It 
was  also  the  first  time  that  her  rasp  of  criticism  had 
ever  been  applied  to  him,  and  with  such  asperity,  too. 
He  could  not  make  it  out.  He  looked  from  his  wife 
to  Guida ;  then,  suddenly  arrested  by  the  look  in  her 
face,  he  scratched  his  shaggy  head  in  despair,  and 
moved  about  in  his  seat. 

"  Sit  you  still,  Jean,"  said  his  wife  sharply  ;  "you  're 
like  peas  on  a  hot  griddle." 

This  confused  Jean  beyond  recovery,  for  never  in 
his  life  had  Aimable  spoken  to  him  like  that.  He 
saw  there  was  something  wrong,  and  he  did  not  know 
whether  to  speak  or  hold  his  tongue ;  or,  as  he  said 
to  himself,  he  "  did  n't  know  which  eye  to  wink." 
He  adjusted  his  spectacles,  and,  pulling  himself  to- 
gether, muttered  :  — 

"  Smoke  of  thunder,  what 's  all  this  !  " 

Guida  was  n't  a  wisp  of  quality  to  shiver  with  ter- 
ror at  the  mere  mention  of  war  with  France ;  but  ba 
sti  !  thought  Jean,  there  was  now  in  her  face  a  sharp, 
fixed  look  of  pain,  in  her  eyes  a  bewildered  anxiety. 

Jean  scratched  his  head  still  more.  Nothing  par- 
ticular came  of  that.  There  was  no  good  trying  to 
work  the  thing  out  suddenly ;  he  was  n't  clever 
enough.  Then  out  of  an  habitual  good  nature  he  tried 
to  bring  better  weather  fore  and  aft. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     181 

"  Et  ben,"  said  he,  "  in  the  dark  you  can't  tell  a 
wasp  from  a  honey-bee  till  he  lights  on  you ;  and 
that 's  too  far  off  there,"  —  he  jerked  a  finger  towards 
the  French  shore,  —  "  to  be  certain  sure.  But  if  the 
wasp  nip,  you  make  him  pay  for  it,  the  head  and  the 
tail  —  yes,  I  think  —  me.  .  .  .  There 's  the  Eper- 
querie,"  he  added  quickly,  nodding  in  front  of  him. 

The  Island  of  Sark  lifted  a  green  bosom  above  her 
perpendicular  cliffs,  with  the  pride  of  an  affluent 
mother  among  her  brood.  Dowered  by  sun  and 
softened  by  a  delicate  haze  like  an  exquisite  veil  of 
modesty,  this  youngest  daughter  of  the  isles  clustered 
with  her  kinsfolk  in  the  emerald  archipelago  between 
the  great  seas. 

The  outlines  of  the  coast  grew  plainer  as  the  Hardi 
Biaou  drew  nearer  and  nearer.  From  end  to  end 
there  was  no  harbor  upon  this  southern  side.  There 
was  no  roadway,  as  it  seemed,  no  pathway  at  all  up 
the  overhanging  cliffs,  —  ridges  of  granite  and  gray 
and  green  rock,  belted  with  mist,  crowned  by  sun,  and 
fretted  by  the  milky,  upcasting  surf.  Little  islands, 
like  outworks  before  it,  crouched  slumberously  to  the 
sea,  as  a  dog  lays  its  head  in  its  paws  and  hugs  the 
ground  close,  with  vague,  soft-blinking  eyes. 

By  the  shore  the  air  was  white  with  sea-gulls  flying 
and  circling,  rising  and  descending,  shooting  up  straight 
into  the  air,  their  bodies  smooth  and  long  like  the 
body  of  a  babe  in  white  samite,  their  feathering  tails 
spread  like  a  fan,  their  wings  expanding  on  the  am- 
bient air.  In  the  tall  cliffs  were  the  nests  of  dried 
seaweed,  fastened  to  the  edge  of  a  rocky  bracket  on 
lofty  ledges,  the  little  ones  within  piping  to  the  little 
ones  without.  Every  point  of  rock  had  its  sentinel 


182     THE   BATTLE    OF   THE   STRONG 

gull,  looking  —  looking  out  to  sea  like  some  watchful 
defender  of  a  mystic  city.  Piercing  might  be  the 
cries  of  pain  or  of  joy  from  the  earth,  more  piercing 
were  their  cries ;  dark  and  dreadful  might  be  the  woe 
of  those  who  went  down  to  the  sea  in  ships,  but  they 
shrilled  on  unheeding,  their  yellow  beaks  still  yel- 
lowing in  the  sun,  keeping  their  everlasting  watch  and 
ward. 

Now  and  again  other  birds,  dark,  quick-winged,  low- 
flying,  shot  in  among  the  white  companies  of  sea-gulls, 
stretching  their  long  necks,  and  turning  their  swift, 
cowardly  eyes  here  and  there,  the  cruel  beak  ex- 
tended, the  body  gorged  with  carrion.  Black  maraud- 
ers among  blithe  birds  of  peace  and  joy,  they  watched 
like  sable  spirits  near  the  nests,  or  on  some  near  sea 
rocks,  sombre  and  alone,  blinked  evilly  at  the  tall 
bright  cliffs  and  the  lightsome  legions  nestling  there. 

These  swart  loiterers  by  the  happy  nests  of  the 
young  were  like  spirits  of  fate  who  might  not  destroy, 
who  had  no  power  to  harm  the  living,  yet  who  could 
not  be  driven  forth  :  the  ever-present  death-heads  at 
the  feast,  the  impassive  acolytes  by  the  altars  of  des- 
tiny. 

As  the  Hardi  Biaou  drew  near  the  lofty,  inviolate 
cliffs,  there  opened  up  sombre  clefts  and  caverns, 
honeycombing  the  island  at  all  points  of  the  compass. 
She  slipped  past  rugged  pinnacles,  like  buttresses  to 
the  island,  here  trailed  with  vines,  valanced  with  shrubs 
of  unnamable  beauty,  and  yonder  shriveled  and  bare 
like  the  skin  of  an  elephant. 

Some  rocks,  indeed,  were  like  vast  animals  round 
which  molten  granite  had  been  poured,  preserving 
them  eternally.  The  heads  of  great  dogs,  like  the 
dogs  of  Ossian,  sprang  out  in  profile  from  the  re- 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     183 

pulsing  mainland  ;  stupendous  gargoyles  grinned  at 
them  from  dark  points  of  excoriated  cliff.  Farther 
off,  the  face  of  a  battered  sphinx  stared  with  unheed- 
ing look  into  the  vast  sea  and  sky  beyond.  From 
the  dark  depths  of  mystic  crypts  came  groanings, 
like  the  roaring  of  lions  penned  beside  the  caves  of 
martyrs. 

Jean  had  startled  Guida  with  his  suggestions  of  war 
between  England  and  France.  Though  she  longed 
to  have  Philip  win  glory  in  some  great  battle,  yet  her 
first  natural  thought  was  of  danger  to  the  man  she 
loved  —  and  the  chance,  too,  of  his  not  coming  back 
to  her  from  Portsmouth.  But  now  as  she  looked  at 
this  scene  before  her,  there  came  again  to  her  face  the 
old  charm  of  blitheness.  The  tides  of  temperament 
in  her  were  fast  to  flow  and  quick  to  ebb.  The  reac- 
tion from  pain  was  in  proportion  to  her  splendid  nat- 
ural health.  Her  lips  smiled.  For  what  can  long 
depress  the  youthful  and  the  loving  when  they  dream 
that  they  are  entirely  beloved  ?  Lands  and  thrones 
may  perish,  plague  and  devastation  walk  abroad  with 
death,  misery  and  beggary  crawl  naked  to  the  door- 
way, and  crime  cower  in  the  hedges ;  but  to  the 
egregious  egotism  of  young  love  there  are  only  two 
identities  bulking  in  the  crowded  universe.  To  these 
immensities  all  other  beings  are  audacious  who  dream 
of  being  even  comfortable  and  obscure  —  happiness 
would  be  a  presumption  ;  as  though  Fate  intended 
each  living  human  being  at  some  one  moment 
to  have  the  whole  world  to  himself.  And  who  shall 
cry  out  against  that  egotism  with  which  all  are  dis- 
eased ! 

So  busy  was  Guida  with  her  own  thoughts  that  she 
scarcely  noticed  they  had  changed  their  course,  and 


1 84  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

were  skirting  the  coast  westerly,  whereby  to  reach 
Havre  Gosselin  on  the  other  side  of  the  island.  There 
on  the  shore  above  lay  the  seigneurie,  the  destination 
of  the  Hardi  Biaou. 

As  they  passed  the  western  point  of  the  island,  and 
made  their  course  easterly  by  a  channel  between 
rocky  bulwarks  opening  Havre  Gosselin,  they  sud- 
denly saw  a  brig  rounding  the  Eperquerie.  She  was 
making  to  the  southeast  under  full  sail.  Her  main 
and  mizzen  masts  were  not  visible,  and  her  colors 
could  not  be  seen,  but  Jean's  quick  eye  had  lighted  on 
something  which  made  him  cast  apprehensive  glances 
at  his  wife  and  Guida.  There  was  a  gun  in  the  stern 
port -hole  of  the  vanishing  brig ;  and  he  also  noted 
that  it  was  run  out  for  action.  His  swift  glance  at 
his  wife  and  Guida  assured  him  that  they  had  not 
noticed  the  gun. 

Jean's  brain  began  working  with  unusual  celerity. 
He  was  certain  that  the  brig  was  a  French  sloop  or  a 
privateer.  In  other  circumstances,  that  in  itself 
might  not  have  given  him  much  trouble  of  mind,  for 
more  than  once  French  frigates  had  sailed  round  the 
Channel  Isles  in  insulting  strength  and  mockery ; 
but  at  this  moment  every  man  knew  that  France  and 
England  were  only  waiting  to  see  who  should  throw 
the  ball  first  and  set  the  red  game  going.  Twenty 
French  frigates  could  do  little  harm  to  the  Island  of 
Sark ;  a  hundred  men  could  keep  off  an  army  and 
navy  there ;  but  Jean  knew  that  the  Admiralty  yacht 
Dorset  was  sailing  at  this  moment  within  half  a  league 
of  the  Eperquerie.  He  would  stake  his  life  that  the 
brig  was  French  and  hostile,  and  knew  it  also.  At 
all  costs  he  must  follow  and  know  the  fate  of  the 
yacht. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  185 

If  he  landed  at  Havre  Gosselin  and  crossed  the 
island  on  foot,  whatever  was  to  happen  would  be 
over  and  done,  and  that  did  not  suit  the  book  of  Jean 
Touzel.  More  than  once  he  had  seen  a  little  fighting, 
and  more  than  once  shared  in  it.  If  there  was  to  be 
a  fight,  —  he  looked  affectionately  at  his  carronades,  — 
then  he  wanted  to  be  within  seeing  or  striking  dis- 
tance. 

Instead  of  running  into  Havre  Gosselin,  he  set  for 
the  Bee  du  Nez,  the  eastern  point  of  the  island.  His 
object  was  to  land  upon  the  rocks  of  the  Eperquerie, 
where  the  women  would  be  safe  whatever  befell.  The 
tide  was  running  strong  round  the  point,  and  the  surf 
was  heavy,  so  that  once  or  twice  the  boat  was  almost 
overturned ;  but  Jean  had  measured  well  the  currents 
and  the  wind. 

This  was  one  of  the  most  exciting  moments  in  his 
life,  for,  as  they  rounded  the  Bee  du  Nez,  there  was 
the  Dorset  going  about  to  make  for  Guernsey,  and 
the  brig,  under  full  sail,  bearing  down  upon  her. 
Even  as  they  rounded  the  point,  up  ran  the  tricolor 
to  the  brig's  mizzen-mast,  and  the  militant  shouts  of 
the  French  sailors  came  over  the  water. 

Too  late  had  the  little  yacht  with  her  handful  of 
guns  seen  the  danger  and  gone  about.  The  wind  was 
fair  for  her  ;  but  it  was  as  fair  for  the  brig,  able  to 
outsail  her  twice  over.  As  the  Hardi  Biaou  neared 
the  landing-place  of  the  Eperquerie,  a  gun  was  fired 
from  the  privateer  across  the  bows  of  the  Dorset, 
and  Guida  realized  what  was  happening. 

As  they  landed  another  shot  was  fired,  then  came 
a  broadside.  Guida  put  her  hands  before  her  eyes, 
and  when  she  looked  again  the  mainmast  of  the 
yacht  was  gone.  And  now  from  the  heights  of  Sark 


1 86  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

above  there  rang  out  a  cry  from  the  lips  of  the 
affrighted  islanders  : — 

"  War —  war —  war —  war  !  " 

Guida  sank  down  upon  the  rock,  and  her  face 
dropped  into  her  hands.  She  trembled  violently. 
Somehow  all  at  once,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  there  was  borne  in  upon  her  a  feeling  of  awful 
desolation  and  loneliness.  She  was  alone  —  she  was 
alone  —  she  was  alone  :  that  was  the  refrain  of  her 
thoughts. 

The  cry  of  war  rang  along  the  cliff  tops  ;  and  war 
would  take  Philip  from  her.  Perhaps  she  would  never 
see  him  again.  The  horror  of  it,  the  pity  of  it,  the 
peril  of  it ! 

Shot  after  shot  the  twelve-pounders  of  the  French- 
man drove  like  dun  hail  at  the  white  timbers  of  the 
yacht,  and  her  masts  and  spars  were  flying.  The 
privateer  now  came  drawing  down  to  where  she  lay 
lurching. 

A  hand  touched  Guida  upon  the  shoulder.  "  Cheer 
thee,  my  dee-ar,"  said  Maitresse  Aimable's  voice. 
Below,  Jean  Touzel  had  eyes  only  for  this  sea-fight 
before  him,  for,  despite  the  enormous  difference,  the 
Englishmen  were  now  fighting  their  little  craft  for  all 
that  she  was  capable.  But  the  odds  were  terribly 
against  her,  though  she  had  the  windward  side,  and 
the  firing  of  the  privateer  was  bad.  The  carronades 
on  her  flush  decks  were  replying  valiantly  to  the 
twelve-pounders  of  the  brig.  At  last  a  chance  shot 
carried  away  her  mizzen-mast,  and  another  dismounted 
her  single  great  gun,  killing  a  number  of  men.  The 
carronades,  good  for  only  a  few  discharges,  soon  left 
her  to  the  fury  of  her  assailant,  and  presently  the 
Dorset  was  no  better  than  a  battered  raisin-box.  Her 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG      187 

commander  had  destroyed  his  dispatches,  and  nothing 
remained  now  but  to  be  sunk  or  surrender. 

In  not  more  than  twenty  minutes  from  the  time  the 
first  shot  was  fired,  the  commander  and  his  brave 
little  crew  yielded  to  the  foe,  and  the  Dorset's  flag 
was  hauled  down. 

When  her  officers  and  men  were  transferred  to  the 
Frenchman,  her  one  passenger  and  guest,  the  Reverend 
Lorenzo  Dow,  passed  calmly  from  the  gallant  little 
wreck  to  the  deck  of  the  privateer,  with  a  finger  be- 
tween the  leaves  of  his  book  of  meditations.  With  as 
much  equanimity  as  he  would  have  breakfasted  with  a 
bishop,  made  breaches  of  the  rubric,  or  drunk  from 
a  sailor's  black-jack,  he  went  calmly  into  captivity  in 
France,  giving  no  thought  to  what  he  left  behind ; 
quite  heedless  that  his  going  would  affect  for  good  or 
ill  the  destiny  of  the  young  wife  of  Philip  d' Avranche. 

Guida  watched  the  yacht  go  down,  and  the  brig 
bear  away  towards  France  where  those  black  wasps 
of  war  were  as  motes  against  the  white  sands.  Then 
she  remembered  that  there  had  gone  with  it  one  of 
the  three  people  in  the  world  who  knew  her  secret, 
the  man  who  had  married  her  to  Philip.  She  shivered 
a  little,  she  scarcely  knew  why,  for  it  did  not  then 
seem  of  consequence  to  her  whether  Mr.  Dow  went 
or  stayed,  though  he  had  never  given  her  the  mar- 
riage certificate.  Indeed,  was  it  not  better  he  should 
go  ?  Thereby  one  less  would  know  her  secret.  But 
still  an  undefined  fear  possessed  her. 

"  Cheer  thee,  cheer  thee,  my  dee-ar,  my  sweet  dor- 
mitte  !  "  said  Maitresse  Aimable,  patting  her  shoulder. 
"  It  cannot  harm  thee,  ba  sft  !  'T  is  but  a  flash  in  the 
pan." 

Guida' s  first  impulse  was  to  throw  herself  into  the 


1 88  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

arms  of  the  slow-tongued,  great-hearted  woman  who 
hung  above  her  like  a  cloud  of  mercy,  and  tell  her 
whole  story.  But  no,  she  would  keep  her  word  to 
Philip,  till  Philip  came  again.  Her  love  —  the  love 
of  the  young,  lonely  wife  —  must  be  buried  deep  in 
her  own  heart  until  he  appeared  and  gave  her  the  right 
to  speak. 

Jean  was  calling  to  them.  They  rose  to  go.  Guida 
looked  about  her.  Was  it  all  a  dream,  —  all  that  had 
happened  to  her,  and  around  her?  The  world  was 
sweet  to  look  upon,  and  yet  was  it  true  that  here  be- 
fore her  eyes  there  had  been  war,  and  that  out  of  war 
peril  must  come  to  her  ? 

A  week  ago  she  was  free  as  air,  happy  as  healthy 
body,  truthful  mind,  simple  nature,  and  tender  love 
can  make  a  human  being.  She  was  then  only  a  young, 
young  girl.  To-day  —  she  sighed. 

Long  after  they  put  out  to  sea  again  she  could 
still  hear  the  affrighted  cry  of  the  peasants  from  the 
cliff,  —  or  was  it  only  the  plaintive  echo  of  her  own 
thoughts  ?  — 

"  War —  war —  war —  war!  " 


BOOK   III 

[IN  FRANCE  — NEAR  FIVE  MONTHS  AFTER} 
CHAPTER    XIX 

A  MOMENT,  Monsieur  le  Due." 
The  Duke  turned  at  the  door,  and  looked  with 
listless  inquiry  into  the  face  of  the  Minister  of  Marine, 
who,  picking  up  an  official  paper  from  his  table,  ran 
an  eye  down  it,  marked  a  point  with  the  sharp  corner 
of  his  snuff-box,  and  handed  it  over  to  his  visitor,  say- 
ing, "Our  roster  of  English  prisoners  taken  in  the 
action  off  Brest." 

The  Duke,  puzzled,  lifted  his  glass  and  scanned  the 
roll  mechanically. 

"No,  no,  Duke,  just  where  I  have  marked,"  inter- 
posed the  Minister. 

"  My  dear  Monsieur  Dalbarade,"  remarked  the 
Duke  a  little  querulously,  "  I  do  not  see  what  inter- 
est"— 

He  stopped  short,  however,  looked  closer  at  the 
document,  and  then  lowering  it  in  a  sort  of  amaze- 
ment seemed  about  to  speak ;  but,  instead,  raised  the 
paper  again  and  fixed  his  eyes  intently  on  the  spot 
indicated  by  the  Minister. 

"  Most  curious,"  he  said  after  a  moment,  making 
little  nods  of  his  head  towards  Dalbarade  ;  "my  own 
name  —  and  an  English  prisoner,  you  say  ? " 


190  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

"  Precisely  so  ;  and  he  gave  our  fellows  some  hard 
knocks  before  his  frigate  went  on  the  reefs." 

"  Strange  that  the  name  should  be  my  own.  I 
never  heard  of  an  English  branch  of  our  family." 

A  quizzical  smile  passed  over  the  face  of  the  Min- 
ister, adding  to  his  visitor's  mystification.  "  But  sup- 
pose he  were  English,  yet  French  too?  "  he  rejoined. 

"I  fail  to  understand  the  entanglement,"  answered 
the  Duke  stiffly. 

"  He  is  an  Englishman  whose  name  and  native  lan- 
guage are  French ;  he  speaks  as  good  French  as  your 
own." 

The  Duke  peevishly  tapped  a  chair  with  his  stick. 
"  I  am  no  reader  of  riddles,  monsieur,"  he  said  acidly, 
although  eager  to  know  more  concerning  this  English- 
man of  the  same  name  as  himself,  ruler  of  the  sove- 
reign duchy  of  Bercy. 

"Shall  I  bid  him  enter,  Prince?"  asked  the  Minis- 
ter. 

The  Duke's  face  relaxed  a  little,  for  the  truth  was, 
at  this  moment  of  his  long  life  he  was  deeply  con- 
cerned with  his  own  name  and  all  who  bore  it. 

"Is  he  here  then  ? "  he  asked,  nodding  assent. 

"  In  the  next  room,"  answered  the  Minister,  turning 
to  a  bell  and  ringing.  "  I  have  him  here  for  examina- 
tion, and  was  but  beginning  when  I  was  honored  by 
your  Highness's  presence."  He  bowed  politely,  yet 
there  was,  too,  a  little  mockery  in  the  bow,  which  did 
not  escape  the  Duke.  These  were  days  when  princes 
received  but  little  respect  in  France. 

A  subaltern  entered,  received  an  order,  and  disap- 
peared. The  Duke  withdrew  to  the  embrasure  of 
a  window,  and  immediately  the  prisoner  was  gruffly 
announced. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  191 

The  young  Englishman  stood  quietly  waiting,  his 
quick  eyes  going  from  Dalbarade  to  the  wizened  figure 
by  the  window,  and  back  again  to  the  Minister.  His 
look  carried  both  calmness  and  defiance,  but  the  defi- 
ance came  only  from  a  sense  of  injury  and  unmerited 
disgrace. 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  Minister  with  austerity,  "in 
your  further  examination  we  shall  need  to  repeat  some 
questions." 

The  prisoner  nodded  indifferently,  and  for  a  brief 
space  there  was  silence.  The  Duke  stood  by  the  win- 
dow, the  Minister  by  his  table,  the  prisoner  near  the 
door.  Suddenly  the  prisoner,  with  an  abrupt  motion 
of  the  hand  towards  two  chairs,  said  with  an  assump- 
tion of  ordinary  politeness  :  — 

"  Will  you  not  be  seated  ? " 

The  remark  was  so  odd  in  its  coolness  and  effront- 
ery, that  the  Duke  chuckled  audibly.  The  Minister 
was  completely  taken  aback.  He  glanced  stupidly  at 
the  two  chairs  —  the  only  ones  in  the  room  —  and  at 
the  prisoner.  Then  the  insolence  of  the  thing  began 
to  work  upon  him,  and  he  was  about  to  burst  forth, 
when  the  Duke  came  forward,  and,  politely  moving  a 
chair  near  to  the  young  commander,  said  :  — 

"  My  distinguished  compliments,  Monsieur  le  Capi- 
taine.  I  pray  you  accept  this  chair." 

With  quiet  self-possession  and  a  matter-of-course 
air  the  prisoner  bowed  politely,  and  seated  himself ; 
then,  with  a  motion  of  the  hand  backward  towards  the 
door,  said  to  the  Duke,  "  I  've  been  standing  five  hours 
with  some  of  those  moutons  in  the  anteroom.  My 
profound  thanks  to  monseigneur  ! " 

Touching  the  angry  Minister  on  the  arm,  the  Duke 
said  quietly :  — 


192  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

"  Dear  monsieur,  will  yo.u  permit  me  a  few  questions 
to  the  prisoner  ?  " 

At  that  instant  there  came  a  tap  at  the  door,  and 
an  orderly  entered  with  a  letter  to  the  Minister,  who 
glanced  at  it  hurriedly,  then  turned  to  the  prisoner 
and  the  Duke,  as  though  in  doubt  what  to  do. 

"  I  will  be  responsible  for  the  prisoner,  if  you  must 
leave  us,"  said  the  Duke  at  once. 

"  For  a  little,  for  a  little,  —  a  matter  of  moment  with 
the  Minister  of  War,"  answered  Dalbarade,  nodding, 
and  with  an  air  of  abstraction  left  the  room. 

The  Duke  withdrew  to  the  window  again,  and  seated 
himself  in  the  embrasure,  at  some  little  distance  from 
the  Englishman,  who  at  once  got  up  and  brought  his 
chair  closer.  The  warm  sunlight  of  spring,  streaming 
through  the  window,  was  now  upon  his  pale  face,  and 
strengthened  it,  giving  it  fullness  and  the  eye  fire. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  a  prisoner,  monsieur  ? " 
asked  the  Duke,  at  the  same  time  acknowledging  the 
other's  politeness  with  a  bow. 

"  Since  March,  monseigneur." 

"  Monseigneur  again,  —  a  man  of  judgment,"  said 
the  Duke  to  himself,  pleased  to  have  his  exalted  sta- 
tion recognized.  "H'm,  and  it  is  now  June,  —  four 
months,  monsieur !  You  have  been  well  used,  mon- 
sieur ? " 

"  Vilely,  monseigneur,"  answered  the  other ;  "  a 
shipwrecked  enemy  should  never  be  made  prisoner, 
or  at  least  he  should  be  enlarged  on  parole  ;  but  I 
have  been  confined  like  a  pirate  in  a  sink  of  a  jail." 

"  Of  what  country  are  you  ?  " 

Raising  his  eyebrows  in  amazement  the  young  man 
answered :  — 

"  I  am  an  Englishman,  monseigneur." 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  193 

"  Monsieur  is  of  England,  then  ? " 

"  Monseigneur,  I  am  an  English  officer." 

"  You  speak  French  well,  monsieur." 

"Which  serves  me  well  in  France,  as  you  see, 
monseigneur." 

The  Duke  was  a  trifle  nettled.  "  Where  were  you 
born,  monsieur  ?  " 

There  was  a  short  pause,  and  then  the  prisoner, 
who  had  enjoyed  the  other's  perplexity,  said  :  — 

"  On  the  Isle  of  Jersey,  monseigneur." 

The  petulant  look  passed  immediately  from  the 
face  of  the  Duke ;  the  horizon  was  clear  at  once. 

"  Ah,  then,-  you  are  French,  monsieur  !  " 

"  My  flag  is  the  English  flag ;  I  was  born  a  British 
subject,  and  I  shall  die  one,"  answered  the  other 
steadily. 

"  The  sentiment  sounds  estimable,"  answered  the 
Duke ;  "  but  as  for  life  and  death,  and  what  we  are 
or  what  we  may  be,  we  are  the  sport  of  Fate."  His 
brow  clouded.  "  I  myself  was  born  under  a  mon- 
archy ;  I  shall  probably  die  under  a  republic.  I  was 
born  a  Frenchman  ;  I  may  die  " 

His  tone  had  become  low  and  cynical,  and  he  broke 
off  suddenly,  as  though  he  had  said  more  than  he 
meant.  "  Then  you  are  a  Norman,  monsieur,"  he 
added  in  a  louder  tone. 

"  Once  all  Jerseymen  were  Normans,  and  so  were 
many  Englishmen,  monseigneur." 

"  I  come  of  Norman  stock,  too,  monsieur,"  remarked 
the  Duke  graciously,  yet  eying  the  young  man 
keenly. 

"  Monseigneur  has  not  the  kindred  advantage  of 
being  English  ?  "  added  the  prisoner  dryly. 

The  Duke  protested  with  a  deprecatory  wave  of  the 


194     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

fingers  and  a  flash  of  the  sharp  eyes,  and  then,  after 
a  slight  pause,  said,  "What  is  your  name,  mon- 
sieur ? " 

"  Philip  d'Avranche,"  was  the  brief  reply  ;  then  with 
droll  impudence,  "  And  monseigneur's,  by  monsei- 
gneur's  leave  ?  " 

The  Duke  smiled,  and  that  smile  relieved  the  sour- 
ness, the  fret  of  a  face  which  had  care  and  discon- 
tent written  upon  every  line  of  it.  It  was  a  face  that 
had  never  known  happiness.  It  had  known  diversion, 
however,  and  unusual  diversion  it  knew  at  this  mo- 
ment. 

"  My  name,"  he  answered  with  a  penetrating  quiz- 
zical look,  "  my  name  is  Philip  d'Avranche." 

The  young  man's  quick,  watchful  eyes  fixed  them- 
selves like  needles  on  the  Duke's  face.  Through  his 
brain  there  ran  a  succession  of  queries  and  specula- 
tions, and  dominating  them  all  one  clear  question,  — 
was  he  to  gain  anything  by  this  strange  conversa- 
tion ?  Who  was  this  great  man  with  a  name  the 
same  as  his  own,  this  crabbed  nobleman  with  skin  as 
yellow  as  an  orange,  and  body  like  an  orange  squeezed 
dry  ?  He  surely  meant  him  no  harm,  however,  for 
flashes  of  kindliness  had  lighted  the  shriveled  face 
as  he  talked.  His  look  was  bent  in  piercing  com- 
ment upon  Philip,  who,  trying  hard  to  solve  the  mys- 
tery, now  made  a  tentative  rejoinder  to  his  strange 
statement.  Rising  from  his  chair  and  bowing,  he 
said,  with  shrewd  foreknowledge  of  the  effect  of  his 
words  :  — 

"  I  had  not  before  thought  my  own  name  of  such 
consequence." 

The  old  man  grunted  amiably.  "  My  faith,  the 
very  name  begets  a  towering  conceit  wherever  it  goes," 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   195 

he  answered,  and  he  brought  his  stick  down  on  the 
floor  with  such  vehemence  that  the  emerald  and  ruby 
rings  rattled  on  his  shrunken  fingers. 

"  Be  seated  —  cousin,"  he  said  with  dry  compli- 
ment, for  Philip  had  remained  standing,  as  if  with  the 
unfeigned  respect  of  a  cadet  in  the  august  presence 
of  the  head  of  his  house.  It  was  a  sudden  and  bold 
suggestion,  and  it  was  not  lost  on  the  Duke.  The 
aged  nobleman  was  too  keen  an  observer  not  to  see 
the  designed  flattery,  but  he  was  in  a  mood  when 
flattery  was  palatable,  seeing  that  many  of  his  own 
class  were  arrayed  against  him  for  not  having  joined 
the  army  of  the  Vendee  ;  and  that  the  Revolutionists, 
with  whom  he  had  compromised,  for  the  safety  of  his 
lands  of  d'Avranche  and  his  duchy  of  Bercy,  regarded 
him  with  suspicion.  Between  the  two,  the  old  man 
—  at  heart  most  profoundly  a  Royalist  —  bided  his 
time,  in  some  peril  but  with  no  fear.  The  spirit  of 
this  young  Englishman  of  his  own  name  pleased  him  ; 
the  flattery,  patent  as  it  was,  gratified  him,  for  in  rev- 
olutionary France  few  treated  him  with  deference 
now.  Even  the  Minister  of  Marine,  with  whom  he 
was  on  good  terms,  called  him  "  citizen  "  at  times. 

All  at  once  it  flashed  on  the  younger  man  that  this 
must  be  the  Prince  d'Avranche,  Due  de  Bercy,  of  that 
family  of  d'Avranche  from  which  his  own  came  in 
long  descent,  —  even  from  the  days  of  Rollo,  Duke  of 
Normandy.  He  recalled  on  the  instant  the  token 
of  fealty  of  the  ancient  House  of  d'Avranche, — the 
offering  of  a  sword. 

"Your  Serene  Highness,"  he  said  with  great  defer- 
ence and  as  great  tact,  "  I  must  first  offer  my  homage 
to  the  Prince  d'Avranche,  Due  de  Bercy" —  Then 
with  a  sudden  pause,  and  a  whimsical  look,  he  added, 


196  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

"  But,  indeed,  I  had  forgotten,  they  have  taken  away 
my  sword ! " 

"We  shall  see,"  answered  the  Prince,  well  pleased, 
"  we  shall  see  about  that  sword.  Be  seated."  Then, 
after  a  short  pause,  "  Tell  me  now,  monsieur,  of  your 
family,  of  your  ancestry." 

His  eyes  were  bent  on  Philip  with  great  intentness, 
and  his  thin  lips  tightened  in  some  unaccountable 
agitation. 

Philip  instantly  responded.  He  explained  how  in 
the  early  part  of  the  thirteenth  century,  after  the 
great  crusade  against  the  Albigenses,  a  cadet  of  the 
house  of  d'Avranche  had  emigrated  to  England,  and 
had  come  to  place  and  honor  under  Henry  III.,  who 
gave  to  the  son  of  this  d'Avranche  certain  tracts  of 
land  in  Jersey,  where  he  settled.  Philip  had  descended 
in  a  direct  line  from  this  same  receiver  of  king's  favors, 
and  was  now  the  only  representative  of  his  family. 

While  Philip  spoke  the  Duke  never  took  eyes  from 
his  face,  —  that  face  so  facile  in  the  display  of  feeling 
or  emotion.  The  voice  also  had  a  lilt  of  health  and 
vitality  which  rang  on  the  ears  of  age  pleasantly.  As 
he  listened  he  thought  of  his  eldest  son,  partly  imbe- 
cile, all  but  a  liisus  naturcz,  separated  from  his  wife 
immediately  after  marriage,  through  whom  there  could 
never  be  succession,  —  he  thought  of  him,  and  for  the 
millionth  time  in  his  life  winced  in  impotent  disdain. 
He  thought,  too,  of  his  beloved  second  son,  lying  in 
a  soldier's  grave  in  Macedonia ;  of  the  buoyant  reso- 
nance of  that  bygone  voice,  of  the  soldierly  good 
spirits  like  to  the  good  spirits  of  the  prisoner  before 
him,  and  "his  heart  yearned  towards  the  young  man 
exceedingly."  If  that  second  son  had  but  lived  there 
would  be  now  no  compromising  with  this  Republican 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   197 

Government  of  France ;  he  would  be  fighting  for  the 
white  flag  with  the  golden  lilies  over  in  the  Vendee. 

"Your  ancestors  were  mine,  then,"  remarked  the 
Duke  gravely,  after  a  pause,  "  though  I  had  not  heard 
of  that  emigration  to  England.  However  —  however ! 
Come,  tell  me  of  the  engagement  in  which  you  lost 
your  ship,"  he  added  hurriedly  in  a  low  tone.  He  was 
now  so  intent  that  he  did  not  stir  in  his  seat,  but  sat 
rigidly  still,  regarding  Philip  kindly.  Something  in 
the  last  few  moments'  experience  had  loosened  the 
puckered  skin,  softened  the  crabbed  look  in  the  face, 
and  Philip  had  no  longer  doubt  of  his  friendly  inten- 
tions. 

"  I  had  the  frigate  Araminta,  twenty-four  guns,  a 
fortnight  out  from  Portsmouth,"  responded  Philip  at 
once.  "  We  fell  in  with  a  French  frigate,  thirty  guns. 
She  was  well  to  leeward  of  us,  and  the  Araminta  bore 
up  under  all  sail,  keen  for  action.  The  Frenchman 
was  as  ready  as  ourselves  for  a  brush,  and  tried  to  get 
the  weather  of  us,  but,  failing,  she  shortened  sail  and 
gallantly  waited  for  us.  The  Araminta  overhauled 
her  on  the  weather  quarter,  and  hailed.  She  re- 
sponded with  cheers  and  defiance,  —  as  sturdy  a  foe 
as  man  could  wish.  We  lost  no  time  in  getting  to 
work,  and,  both  running  before  the  wind,  we  fired 
broadsides  as  we  cracked  on.  It  was  tit  for  tat  for  a 
while  with  splinters  flying  and  neither  of  us  in  the 
eye  of  advantage,  but  at  last  the  Araminta  shot  away 
the  main-mast  and  wheel  of  the  Niobe,  and  she  wal- 
lowed like  a  tub  in  the  trough  of  the  sea.  We  bore 
down  on  her,  and  our  carronades  raked  her  like  a 
comb.  Then  we  fell  thwart  her  hawse,  and  tore  her 
up  through  her  stern-ports  with  a  couple  of  thirty- 
two-pounders.  But  before  we  could  board  her  she 


198  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

veered,  lurched,  and  fell  upon  us,  carrying  away  our 
foremast.  We  cut  clear  of  the  tangle,  and  were  mak- 
ing once  more  to  board  her,  when  I  saw  to  windward 
two  French  frigates  bearing  down  on  us  under  full 
sail.  And  then" 

The  Prince  exclaimed  in  surprise,  "  I  had  not  heard 
of  this,"  he  said.  "  They  did  not  tell  the  world  of 
those  odds  against  you." 

"  Odds  and  to  spare,  Monsieur  le  Due !  We  had 
had  all  we  could  manage  in  the  Niobe,  though  she 
was  now  disabled,  and  we  could  hurt  her  no  more. 
If  the  others  came  up  on  our  weather,  we  should  be 
chewed  like  a  bone  in  a  mastiff's  jaws.  If  she  must 
fight  again,  the  Araminta  would  be  little  fit  for  action 
till  we  cleared  away  the  wreckage ;  so  I  sheered  off 
to  make  all  sail.  We  ran  under  courses  with  what 
canvas  we  had,  and  got  away  with  a  fair  breeze  and  a 
good  squall  whitening  to  windward,  while  our  decks 
were  cleared  for  action  again.  The  guns  on  the  main 
deck  had  done  good  service  and  kept  their  places. 
On  the  quarter-deck  and  fo'castle  there  was  more 
amiss,  but  as  I  watched  the  frigates  overhauling  us  I 
took  heart  of  grace  still.  There  were  the  creaking 
and  screaming  of  the  carronade-slides,  the  rattling  of 
the  carriages  of  the  long  twelve-pounders  amidships 
as  they  were  shotted  and  run  out  again,  the  thud  of 
the  carpenters'  hammers  as  the  shot  -  holes  were 
plugged,  — good  sounds  in  the  ears  of  a  fighter  "  — 

"  Of  a  d' Avranche  —  of  a  d'Avranche  !  "  interposed 
the  Prince. 

"  We  were  in  no  bad  way,  and  my  men  were  ready 
for  another  brush  with  our  enemies,  everything  being 
done  that  could  be  done,  everything  in  its  place," 
continued  Philip.  "When  the  frigates  were  a  fair 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     199 

gun-shot  off,  I  saw  that  the  squall  was  overhauling 
us  faster  than  they.  This  meant  good  fortune  if  we 
wished  escape,  bad  luck  if  we  would  rather  fight. 
But  I  had  no  time  to  think  of  that,  for  up  comes 
Shoreham,  my  lieutenant,  with  a  face  all  white.  '  For 
God's  sake,  sir,'  says  he,  'shoal  water  —  shoal  water! 
We  're  ashore ! '  So  much,  Monsieur  le  Prince,  for 
Admiralty  charts  and  soundings  !  It  's  a  hateful 
thing  to  see,  —  the  light  green  water,  the  deadly  siss- 
ing  of  the  straight  narrow  ripple  like  the  grooves  of 
a  washboard ;  and  a  ship's  length  ahead  the  water 
breaking  over  the  reefs,  two  frigates  behind  ready  to 
eat  us. 

"  Up  we  came  to  the  wind,  the  sheets  were  let  run, 
and  away  flew  the  halyards.  All  to  no  purpose,  for 
a  minute  later  we  came  broadside  on  the  reef,  and 
were  gored  on  a  pinnacle  of  rock.  The  end  was  n't 
long  in  coming.  The  Araminta  lurched  off  the  reef 
on  the  swell.  We  watched  our  chance  as  she  rolled, 
and  hove  overboard  our  broadside  of  long  twelve- 
pounders.  But  it  was  no  use.  The  swishing  of  the 
water  as  it  spouted  from  the  scuppers  was  a  deal 
louder  than  the  clang  of  the  chain-pumps.  It  did  n't 
last  long.  The  gale  spilled  itself  upon  us,  and  the 
Araminta,  sick  and  spent,  slowly  settled  down.  The 
last  I  saw  of  her  "  —  Philip  raised  his  voice  as  though 
he  would  hide  what  he  felt  behind  an  unsentimental 
loudness  —  "  was  the  white  pennant  at  the  maintop- 
gallant  masthead.  A  little  while,  and  then  I  did  n't 
see  it,  and  —  and  so  good-by  to  my  first  command ! 
Then" — he  smiled  ironically — "then  I  was  made 
prisoner  by  the  French  frigates,  and  have  been  closely 
confined  ever  since,  against  every  decent  principle  of 
warfare.  And  now  here  I  am,  Monsieur  le  Due !  " 


200     THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG 

The  Duke  had  listened  with  an  immovable  atten- 
tion, the  gray  eyebrows  twitching  now  and  then,  the 
arid  face  betraying  a  grim  enjoyment.  When  Philip 
had  finished,  he  still  sat  looking  at  him  with  steady 
slow-blinking  eyes,  as  though  unwilling  to  break  the 
spell  the  tale  had  thrown  round  him.  But  an  inqui- 
sition in  the  look,  a  slight  cocking  of  the  head  as 
though  weighing  important  things,  the  ringed  fingers 
softly  drumming  on  the  stick  before  him,  —  all  these 
told  Philip  that  something  was  at  stake  concerning 
himself. 

The  Duke  seemed  about  to  speak,  when  the  door 
of  the  room  opened  and  the  Minister  of  Marine  en- 
tered. The  Duke,  rising  and  courteously  laying  a 
hand  on  his  arm,  drew  him  over  to  the  window,  and 
engaged  him  in  whispered  conversation,  of  which  the 
subject  seemed  unwelcome  to  the  Minister,  for  now 
and  then  he  interrupted  sharply. 

As  the  two  stood  fretfully  debating,  the  door  of  the 
room  again  opened.  There  appeared  an  athletic,  ad- 
venturous-looking officer  in  brilliant  uniform  who  was 
smiling  at  something  called  after  him  from  the  ante- 
chamber. His  blue  coat  was  spick  and  span,  and  very 
gay  with  double  embroidery  at  the  collar,  coat-tails,  and 
pockets.  His  white  waistcoat  and  trousers  were  spot- 
less ;  his  netted  sash  of  blue  with  its  stars  on  the  silver 
tassels  had  a  look  of  studied  elegance.  The  black 
three-cornered  hat,  broidered  with  gold,  and  adorned 
with  three  ostrich  tips  of  red  and  a  white  and  blue 
aigrette,  was,  however,  the  glory  of  his  bravery.  He 
seemed  young  to  be  a  General  of  Division,  for  such 
his  double  embroideries  and  aigrette  proclaimed  him. 

He  glanced  at  Philip,  and  replied  to  his  salute  with 
a  half-quizzical  smile  on  his  proud  and  forceful  face. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  201 

"  Dalbarade,  Dalbarade,"  said  he  to  the  Minister, 
"  I  have  but  an  hour  —  Ah,  Monsieur  le  Prince  !  " 
he  added  suddenly,  as  the  latter  came  hurriedly  to- 
wards him,  and,  grasping  his  hand  warmly,  drew  him 
over  to  Dalbarade  at  the  window.  Philip  now  knew 
beyond  doubt  that  he  was  the  subject  of  debate,  for 
all  the  time  that  the  Duke  in  a  low  tone,  half  cordial, 
half  querulous,  spoke  to  the  newcomer,  the  latter  let 
his  eyes  wander  curiously  towards  Philip.  That  he 
was  an  officer  of  great  importance  was  to  be  seen  from 
the  deference  paid  him  by  Dalbarade. 

All  at  once  he  made  a  polite  gesture  towards  the 
Duke,  and,  facing  the  Minister,  said  in  a  cavalier-like 
tone,  and  with  a  touch  of  patronage,  "  Yes,  yes,  Dal- 
barade ;  it  is  of  no  consequence,  and  I  myself  will  be 
surety  for  both."  Then  turning  to  the  nobleman,  he 
added,  "We  are  beginning  to  square  accounts,  Duke. 
Last  time  we  met  I  had  a  large  favor  of  you,  and  to- 
day you  have  a  small  favor  of  me.  Pray  introduce 
your  kinsman  here,  before  you  take  him  with  you," 
and  he  turned  squarely  towards  Philip. 

Philip  could  scarcely  believe  his  ears.  The  Duke's 
kinsman !  Had  the  Duke  then  got  his  release  on  the 
ground  that  they  were  of  kin,  —  a  kinship  which,  even 
to  be  authentic,  must  go  back  seven  centuries  for 
proof  ? 

Yet  here  he  was  being  introduced  to  the  revolu- 
tionary general  as  "  my  kinsman  of  the  isles  of  Nor- 
mandy." Here,  too,  was  the  same  General  Grand- 
jon-Larisse  applauding  him  on  his  rare  fortune  to  be 
thus  released  on  parole  through  the  Due  de  Bercy,  and 
quoting  with  a  laugh,'  half  sneer  and  half  raillery,  the 
old  Norman  proverb  :  "  A  Norman  dead  a  thousand 
years  cries  Haro  !  Haro  !  if  you  tread  on  his  grave." 


202  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

So  saying,  he  saluted  the  Duke  with  a  liberal 
flourish  of  the  hand  and  a  friendly  bow,  and  turned 
away  to  Dalbarade. 

A  half-hour  later  Philip  was  outside  with  the  Duke, 
walking  slowly  through  the  courtyard  to  an  open 
gateway,  where  waited  a  carriage  with  un  liveried 
coachman  and  outriders.  No  word  was  spoken  till 
they  entered  the  carriage  and  were  driven  swiftly 
away. 

"  Whither  now,  your  Highness  ?  "  asked  Philip. 

"To  the  duchy,"  answered  the  other  shortly,  and 
relapsed  into  sombre  meditation. 


CHAPTER    XX 

THE  castle  of  the  Prince  d'Avranche,  Due  de 
Bercy,  was  set  upon  a  vast  rock,  and  the  town 
of  Bercy  huddled  round  the  foot  of  it  and  on  great 
granite  ledges  some  distance  up.  With  fifty  defend- 
ers the  castle,  on  its  lofty  pedestal,  might  have  resisted 
as  many  thousands  ;  and,  indeed,  it  had  done  so  more 
times  than  there  were  rubies  in  the  rings  of  the  pre- 
sent Duke,  who  had  rescued  Captain  Philip  d'Avranche 
from  the  clutches  of  the  Red  Government. 

Upon  the  castle,  with  the  flag  of  the  duchy,  waved 
the  Republican  tricolor,  where  for  a  thousand  years 
had  floated  a  royal  banner.  When  France's  great 
trouble  came  to  her,  and  the  nobles  fled,  or  went  to 
fight  for  the  King  in  the  Vendee,  the  old  Duke,  with 
a  dreamy  indifference  to  the  opinion  of  Europe,  had 
proclaimed  alliance  with  the  new  Government.  He 
felt  himself  privileged  in  being  thus  selfish ;  and  he 
had  made  the  alliance  that  he  might  pursue,  un- 
checked, the  one  remaining  object  of  his  life. 

This  object  had  grown  from  a  longing  into  a  passion. 
It  was  now  his  one  ambition  to  arrange  a  new  succes- 
sion excluding  the  Vaufontaines,  a  detested  branch  of 
the  Bercy  family.  There  had  been  an  ancient  feud 
between  his  family  and  the  Vaufontaines,  whose 
rights  to  the  succession,  after  his  eldest  son,  were  to 
this  time  paramount.  For  three  years  past  he  had 
had  a  whole  monastery  of  Benedictine  monks  at  work 


204  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

to  find  some  collateral  branch  from  which  he  might 
take  a  successor  to  Leopold  John,  his  imbecile  heir  — 
but  to  no  purpose. 

In  more  than  a  little  the  Duke  was  superstitious, 
and  on  the  day  when  he  met  Philip  d'Avranche  in 
the  chamber  of  M.  Dalbarade  he  had  twice  turned 
back  after  starting  to  make  the  visit,  so  great  was  his 
dislike  to  pay  homage  to  the  revolutionary  Minister. 
He  had  nerved  himself  to  the  distasteful  duty,  how- 
ever, and  had  gone.  When  he  saw  the  name  of  the 
young  English  prisoner  —  his  own  name  —  staring 
him  in  the  face,  he  had  had  such  a  thrill  as  a  miracle 
might  have  sent  through  the  veins  of  a  doubting  Chris- 
tian. 

Since  that  minute  he,  like  Philip,  had  been  in  a  kind 
of  dream  ;  on  his  part,  to  find  in  the  young  man,  if 
possible,  an  heir  and  successor  ;  on  Philip's  to  make 
real  exalted  possibilities.  There  had  slipped  past  two 
months,  wherein  Philip  had  seen  a  new  and  brilliant 
avenue  of  life  opening  out  before  him.  Most  like  a 
dream  indeed  it  seemed.  He  had  been  shut  out  from 
the  world,  cut  off  from  all  connection  with  England 
and  his  past,  for  M.  Dalbarade  made  it  a  condition  of 
release  that  he  should  send  no  messages  or  corre- 
spondence to  any  one  outside  Castle  Bercy.  He  had 
not  therefore  written  Guicla.  She  seemed  an  inter- 
minable distance  away.  He  was  as  completely  in  a 
new  world  as  though  he  had  been  transplanted ;  he 
was  as  wholly  in  the  air  of  fresh  ambitions  as  though 
he  were  beginning  the  world  again,  —  ambitions  as 
gorgeous  as  bewildering. 

For,  almost  from  the  first,  the  old  nobleman  treated 
him  like  a  son.  He  spoke  freely  to  him  of  the  most 
private  family  matters,  of  the  most  important  state 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  205 

affairs.  He  consulted  with  him,  he  seemed  to  lean 
upon  him.  He  alluded  often,  in  oblique  phrase,  to 
adoption  and  succession.  In  the  castle  Philip  was 
treated  as  though  he  were  in  truth  a  high  kinsman  of 
the  Duke.  Royal  ceremony  and  state  were  on  every 
hand.  He  who  had  never  had  a  servant  of  his  own, 
now  had  a  score  at  his  disposal.  He  had  spent  his 
early  days  in  a  small  Jersey  manor  house  ;  here  he  was 
walking  the  halls  of  a  palace  with  the  step  of  as- 
surance, the  most  honored  figure  in  a  principality  next 
to  the  sovereign  himself.  "  Adoption  and  succes- 
sion "  were  words  that  rang  in  his  ears  day  and  night. 
The  wild  dream  had  laid  feverish  hands  upon  him. 
Jersey,  England,  the  Navy,  seemed  very  far  away. 

Ambition  was  the  deepest  passion  in  him,  even  as 
defeating  the  hopes  of  the  Vaufontaines  was  more 
than  a  religion  with  the  Duke.  By  no  trickery,  but 
by  a  persistent  good  nature,  alertness  of  speech,  avoid- 
ance of  dangerous  topics,  and  aptness  in  anecdote,  he 
had  hourly  made  his  position  stronger,  himself  more 
honored  at  the  Castle  Bercy.  He  had  also  tactfully 
declined  an  offer  of  money  from  the  Prince,  —  none 
the  less  decidedly  because  he  was  nearly  penniless. 
The  Duke's  hospitality  he  was  ready  to  accept,  but 
not  his  purse,  —  not  yet. 

Yet  he  was  not  in  all  acting  a  part.  He  was  sincere 
in  his  liking  for  the  soured,  bereaved  sovereign,  forced 
to  endure  alliance  with  a  Government  he  loathed. 
He  even  admired  the  Duke  for  his  vexing  idiosyn- 
crasies, for  they  came  of  a  strong  individuality  which, 
in  happier  case,  should  have  made  him  a  contented 
and  beloved  monarch.  As  it  was,  the  people  of  his 
duchy  were  loyal  to  him  beyond  telling,  doing  his  bid- 
ding without  cavil  ;  standing  for  the  King  of  France 


206  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

at  his  will,  declaring  for  the  Republic  at  his  command  ; 
for,  whatever  the  Duke  was  to  the  world  outside, 
within  his  duchy  he  was  just  and  benevolent,  if  im- 
perious. 

All  these  things  Philip  had  come  to  know  in  his 
short  sojourn.  He  had,  with  the  Duke,  mingled 
freely,  yet  with  great  natural  dignity,  among  the  peo- 
ple of  the  duchy,  and  was  introduced  everywhere,  and 
at  all  times,  as  the  sovereign's  kinsman,  —  "in  a 
direct  line  from  an  ancient  branch,"  as  his  Highness 
declared.  He  had  been  received  gladly,  and  had 
made  himself  an  agreeable  figure  in  the  duchy,  to  the 
delight  of  the  Duke,  who  watched  his  every  motion, 
every  word,  and  their  effect.  He  came  to  know  that 
gossip  had  gone  abroad  that  the  Duke  had  already 
chosen  him  for  heir.  A  fantastic  rumor,  maybe,  yet 
who  could  tell  ? 

One  day  the  Duke  arranged  a  conference  of  the 
civil  and  military  officers  of  his  duchy.  He  chuckled 
to  see  how  reluctant  they  all  were  at  first  to  concede 
their  homage  to  his  favorite,  and  how  soon  they  fell 
under  that  favorite's  influence,  —  all  save  one  man,  the 
Intendant  of  the  duchy.  Philip  himself  was  quick  to 
see  that  this  man,  Count  Carignan  Damour,  appre- 
hensive for  his  own  selfish  ends,  was  bitterly  opposed 
to  him.  But  Damour  was  one  among  many,  and  the 
Duke  was  entirely  satisfied,  for  the  common  people 
received  Philip  with  applause. 

On  this  very  day  was  laid  before  the  Duke  the 
result  of  the  long  researches  of  the  monks  into  the 
genealogy  of  the  d'Avranches,  and  there,  clearly 
enough,  was  confirmation  of  all  Philip  had  said  about 
his  ancestors  and  their  relation  to  the  ancient  house 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  207 

of  d'Avranche.  The  Duke  was  overjoyed,  and  there- 
upon secretly  made  ready  for  Philip's  formal  adoption 
and  succession.  It  never  occurred  to  him  that  Philip 
might  refuse. 

On  the  same  afternoon  he  sent  for  Philip  to  come 
to  him  in  the  highest  room  of  the  great  tower.  It 
was  in  this  room  that,  many  years  ago,  the  Duke's 
young  and  noble  wife,  from  the  province  of  Aquitaine, 
had  given  birth  to  the  second  son  of  the  house  of 
Bercy,  and  had  died  a  year  later,  happy  that  she 
should  at  last  leave  behind  a  healthy,  beautiful  child, 
to  do  her  honor  in  her  lord's  eyes. 

In  this  same  room  the  Duke  and  the  brave  second 
son  had  spent  unnumbered  hours ;  and  here  it  had 
come  home  to  him  that  the  young  wife  was  faultless 
as  to  the  elder,  else  she  had  not  borne  him  this  per- 
fect younger  son.  Thus  her  memory  came  to  be 
adored  ;  and  thus,  when  the  noble  second  son,  the 
glory  of  his  house  and  of  his  heart,  was  killed  in 
Macedonia,  the  Duke  still  came  to  the  little  upper 
room  for  his  communion  of  remembrance.  Hour 
after  hour  he  would  sit  looking  from  the  great  window 
out  over  the  wide  green  valley,  mourning  bitterly,  and 
feeling  his  heart  shrivel  up  within  him,  his  body  grow 
crabbed  and  cold,  and  his  face  sour  and  scornful. 

When  Philip  now  entered  this  sanctuary,  the  Duke 
nodded  and  motioned  him  to  a  chair.  In  silence  he 
accepted,  and  in  silence  they  sat  for  a  time.  Philip 
knew  the  history  of  this  little  room ;  he  had  learned 
it  first  from  Frange  Pergot,  the  porter  at  the  Castle 
gates  with  whom  he  had  made  friends.  The  silence 
gave  him  opportunity  to  recall  the  whole  story. 

At  length  the  motionless  brown  figure  huddled  in 
the  great  chair,  not  looking  at  Philip  but  out  over  the 


208     THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG 

wide  green  valley,  began  to  speak  in  a  low,  measured 
tone,  as  a  dreamer  might  tell  his  dream,  or  a  priest 
his  vision :  — 

"  A  breath  of  life  has  come  again  to  me  through 
you.  Centuries  ago  our  ancestors  were  brothers,  — 
far  back  in  the  direct  line,  brothers,  —  the  monks  have 
proved  it.  Now  I  shall  have  my  spite  of  the  Vaufon- 
taines,  and  now  shall  I  have  another  son —  strong, 
and  with  good  blood  in  him  to  beget  good  blood." 

A  strange,  lean  sort  of  smile  passed  over  his  lips, 
his  eyebrows  twitched,  his  hands  clenched  the  arm  of 
the  chair  wherein  he  sat,  and  he  made  a  motion  of  his 
jaws  as  though  enjoying  a  toothsome  morsel. 

"  H'm  !  Henri  Vaufontaine  shall  see  —  and  all  his 
tribe !  They  shall  not  feed  upon  these  lands  of  the 
d'Avranches,  they  shall  not  carouse  at  my  table  when 
I  am  gone  and  the  fool  I  begot  has  returned  to  his 
Maker.  The  fault  of  him  was  never  mine,  but  God's 
—  does  the  Almighty  think  we  can  forget  that !  I 
was  ever  sound  and  strong.  When  I  was  twenty  I 
killed  two  men  with  my  own  sword  at  a  blow  ;  when 
I  was  thirty,  to  serve  the  King  I  rode  a  hundred  and 
forty  miles  in  one  day  —  from  Paris  to  Dracourt  it 
was.  We  d'Avranches  have  been  men  of  power 
always.  We  fought  for  Christ's  sepulchre  in  the 
Holy  Land,  and  three  bishops  and  two  archbishops 
have  gone  from  us  to  speak  God's  cause  to  the  world. 
And  my  wife,  she  came  of  the  purest  stock  of 
Aquitaine,  and  she  was  constant  in  her  prayers. 
What  discourtesy  was  it  then,  for  God,  who  hath 
been  served  well  by  us,  to  serve  me  in  return  with 
such  mockery;  sending  me  a  bloodless  zany,  whom  his 
wife  left  ere  the  wedding  meats  were  cold  ! " 

His  foot  tapped  the  floor  in  anger,  his  eyes  wan- 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  209 

dered  restlessly  out  over  the  green  expanse.  Sud- 
denly a  dove  perched  upon  the  window-sill  before 
him.  His  quick,  shifting  gaze  settled  on  it  and 
stayed,  softening  and  quieting. 

After  a  slight  pause,  he  turned  to  Philip  and  spoke 
in  a  still  lower  tone.  "  Last  night  in  the  chapel  I 
spake  to  God  and  I  said,  '  Lord  God,  let  there  be  fair 
speech  between  us.  Wherefore  hast  Thou  nailed  me 
like  a  malefactor  to  the  tree  ?  Why  didst  Thou  send 
me  a  fool  to  lead  our  house,  and  afterwards  a  lad  as 
fine  and  strong  as  Absalom,  and  then  lay  him  low 
like  a  wisp  of  corn  in  the  wind,  leaving  me  wifeless, 
—  with  a  prince  to  follow  me,  the  byword  of  men,  the 
scorn  of  women  —  and  of  the  Vaufontaines  ? ' ' 

He  paused  again,  and  his  eyes  seemed  to  pierce 
Philip's,  as  though  he  would  read  if  each  word  was 
burning  its  way  into  his  brain. 

"  As  I  stood  there  alone,  a  voice  spoke  to  me  as 
plainly  as  now  I  speak  to  you,  and  it  said :  '  Have 
done  with  railing.  That  which  was  the  elder's  shall 
be  given  to  the  younger.  The  tree  hath  grown 
crabbed  and  old,  it  beareth  no  longer.  Behold  the 
young  sapling  by  thy  door ;  I  have  planted  it  there. 
The  seed  is  the  seed  of  the  old  tree.  Cherish  it,  lest 
a  grafted  tree  flourish  in  thy  house.'  "...  His  words 
rose  triumphantly.  "Yes,  yes,  I  heard  it  with  my 
own  ears,  the  Voice.  The  crabbed  tree,  that  is  the 
main  line,  dying  in  me ;  the  grafted  tree  is  the 
Vaufontaine,  the  interloper  and  the  mongrel ;  and 
the  sapling  from  the  same  seed  as  the  crabbed  old 
tree"  —he  reached  out  as  though  to  clutch  Philip's 
arm,  but  drew  back,  sat  erect  in  his  chair,  and  said 
with  ringing  decision,  — "  the  sapling  is  Philip 
d'Avranche,  of  the  Jersey  Isle." 


210     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence  between  the  two. 
A  strong  wind  came  rushing  up  the  valley  through 
the  clear  sunlight,  the  great  trees  beneath  the  castle 
swayed,  and  the  flapping  of  the  tricolor  could  be 
heard  within.  From  the  window-sill  the  dove,  caught 
up  on  the  wave  of  wind,  sailed  away  down  the 
widening  glade. 

Philip's  first  motion  was  to  stand  up  and  say :  "  I 
dare  not  think  your  Highness  means  in  very  truth 
to  make  me  your  kinsman  in  the  succession." 

"  And  why  not,  why  not  ? "  testily  answered  the 
Duke,  who  liked  not  to  be  imperfectly  apprehended. 
Then  he  added  more  kindly,  "  Why  not  —  come,  tell 
me  that,  cousin.  Is  it  then  distasteful  ? " 

Philip's  heart  gave  a  leap  and  his  face  flushed.  "  I 
have  no  other  kinsman,"  he  answered  in  a  low  tone 
of  feeling.  "  I  knew  I  had  your  august  friendship  — 
else  all  the  tokens  of  your  goodness  to  me  were 
mockery  ;  but  I  had  scarce  let  myself  count  on  the 
higher,  more  intimate  honor  —  I,  a  poor  captain  in 
the  English  navy." 

He  said  the  last  words  slowly,  for,  whatever  else  he 
was,  he  was  a  loyal  English  sailor,  and  he  wished  the 
Due  de  Bercy  to  know  it,  the  more  convincingly  the 
better  for  the  part  he  was  going  to  play  in  this  duchy, 
if  all  things  favored. 

"  Tut,  tut,  what  has  that  to  do  with  it  ? "  answered 
the  Duke.  "  What  has  poverty  to  do  with  blood  ? 
Younger  sons  are  always  poor,  younger  cousins  poorer. 
As  for  the  captaincy  of  an  English  warship,  that 's  of 
no  consequence  where  greater  games  are  playing  — 
eh  ? " 

He  eyed  Philip  keenly,  yet,  too,  there  was  an  unasked 
question  in  his  look.  He  was  a  critic  of  human  nature, 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     211 

he  understood  the  code  of  honor,  none  better  ;  his  was 
a  mind  that  might  be  willfully,  but  never  crassly  blind. 
He  was  selfish  where  this  young  gentleman  was  con- 
cerned, yet  he  knew  well  how  the  same  gentleman 
ought  to  think,  speak,  and  act. 

The  moment  of  the  great  test  was  come. 

Philip  could  not  read  behind  the  strange,  shriveled 
face.  Instinct  could  help  him  much,  but  it  could  not 
interpret  that  parchment.  He  did  not  know  whether 
his  intended  reply  would  alienate  the  Duke  or  not,  but 
if  it  did,  then  he  must  bear  it.  He  had  come,  as 
he  thought,  to  the  crux  of  this  adventure.  All  in 
a  moment  he  was  recalled  again  to  his  real  position. 
The  practical  facts  of  his  life  possessed  him.  He  was 
standing  between  a  garish  dream  and  commonplace 
realities.  Old  feelings  came  back  —  the  old  life.  The 
ingrain  loyalty  of  all  his  years  was  his  again.  What- 
ever he  might  be,  he  was  still  an  English  officer,  and 
he  was  not  the  man  to  break  the  code  of  professional 
honor  lightly.  If  the  Duke's  favor  and  adoption  must 
depend  on  the  answer  he  must  now  give,  well,  let  it 
be  ;  his  last  state  could  not  be  worse  than  his  first. 

So,  still  standing,  he  answered  the  Duke  boldly,  yet 
quietly,  his  new  kinsman  watching  him  with  a  grim 
curiosity. 

"Monsieur  le  Prince,"  said  Philip,  "I  am  used  to 
poverty,  that  matters  little ;  but  whatever  you  intend 
towards  me,  —  and  I  am  persuaded  it  is  to  my  great 
honor  and  happiness,  —  I  am,  and  must  still  remain, 
an  officer  of  the  English  navy." 

The  Duke's  brow  contracted,  and  his  answer  came 
cold  and  incisive  :  "  The  Navy,  —  that  is  a  bagatelle  ; 
I  had  hoped  to  offer  you  heritage.  Pooh,  pooh,  com- 
manding a  frigate  is  a  trade,  —  a  mere  trade !  " 


212     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

Philip's  face  did  not  stir  a  muscle.  He  was  in  spirit 
the  born  adventurer,  the  gamester  who  could  play  for 
life's  largest  stakes,  lose  all,  draw  a  long  breath,  —  and 
begin  the  world  again. 

"  It 's  a  busy  time  in  my  trade  now,  as  Monsieur 
Dalbarade  would  tell  you,  Duke." 

The  Duke's  lips  compressed  as  though  in  anger. 
"  You  mean  to  say,  monsieur,  that  you  would  let  this 
wretched  war  between  France  and  England  stand 
before  our  own  kinship  and  alliance !  What  are  you 
and  I  in  this  great  shuffle  of  events  ?  Have  less  ego- 
tism, less  vanity,  monsieur.  You  are  no  more  than  a 
million  others,  —  and  I  —  I  am  nothing.  Come,  come, 
there  is  more  than  one  duty  in  the  life  of  every  man, 
and  some  time  he  must  choose  between  one  and  the 
other.  England  does  not  need  you,"  —  his  voice  and 
manner  softened,  he  leaned  towards  Philip,  the  eyes 
almost  closing  as  he  peered  into  his  face,  —  "  but  you 
are  needed  — by  the  House  of  Bercy." 

"  I  was  commissioned  to  a  warship  in  time  of  war," 
answered  Philip  quietly,  "and  I  lost  that  warship. 
When  I  can,  it  is  my  duty  to  go  back  to  the  powers 
that  sent  me  forth.  I  am  still  an  officer  in  full  com- 
mission. Your  Highness  knows  well  what  honor 
claims  of  me." 

"  There  are  hundreds  of  officers  to  take  your  place ; 
in  the  duchy  of  Bercy  there  is  none  to  stand  for  you. 
You  must  choose  between  your  trade  and  the  claims 
of  name  and  blood,  older  than  the  English  navy,  older 
than  Norman  England." 

Philip's  color  was  as  good,  his  manner  as  easy  as  if 
nothing  were  at  stake ;  but  in  his  heart  he  felt  that 
the  game  was  lost  —  he  saw  a  storm  gathering  in  the 
Duke's  eyes,  the  disappointment  presently  to  break 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     213 

out  into  wrath,  the  injured  vanity  to  burst  into  snarl- 
ing disdain.  But  he  spoke  boldly  nevertheless,  for 
he  was  resolved  that,  even  if  he  had  to  return  from 
this  duchy  to  prison,  he  would  go  with  colors  flying. 

"The  proudest  moment  of  my  life  was  when  the 
Due  de  Bercy  called  me  kinsman,"  he  responded ; 
"  the  best  "  (had  he  then  so  utterly  forgotten  the 
little  church  of  St.  Michael's !)  "  was  when  he  showed 
me  friendship.  Yet,  if  my  trade  may  not  be  recon- 
ciled with  what  he  may  intend  for  me,  I  must  ask  to 
be  sent  back  to  Monsieur  Dalbarade."  He  smiled 
hopelessly,  yet  with  stoical  disregard  of  consequences, 
and  went  on  :  "  For  my  trade  is  in  full  swing  these 
days,  and  I  stand  my  chance  of  being  exchanged  and 
earning  my  daily  bread  again.  At  the  Admiralty  I 
am  a  master  workman  on  full  pay,  but  I  'm  not  earn- 
ing my  salt  here.  With  Monsieur  Dalbarade  my  con- 
science would  be  easier." 

He  had  played  his  last  card.  Now  he  was  prepared 
for  the  fury  of  a  jaundiced,  self-willed  old  man,  who 
could  ill  brook  being  thwarted.  He  had  quickly 
imagined  it  all,  and  not  without  reason,  for  surely  a 
furious  disdain  was  at  the  gray  lips,  lines  of  anger 
were  corrugating  the  forehead,  the  rugose  parchment 
face  was  fiery  with  distemper. 

But  what  Philip  expected  did  not  come  to  pass. 
Rising  quickly  to  his  feet,  the  Duke  took  him  by  the 
shoulders,  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks,  and  said  :  — 

"  My  mind  is  made  up  —  is  made  up.  Nothing 
can  change  it.  You  have  no  father,  cousin,  —  well,  I 
will  be  your  father.  You  shall  retain  your  post  in 
the  English  navy  ;  officer  and  patriot  you  shall  be, 
if  you  choose.  A  brave  man  makes  a  better  ruler. 
But  now  there  is  much  to  do.  There  is  the  concur- 


214  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

rence  of  the  English  King  to  secure  ;  that  shall  be  — 
has  already  been  —  my  business.  There  is  the  assent 
of  Leopold  John  to  achieve ;  that  I  shall  command. 
There  are  the  grave  formalities  of  adoption  to  ar- 
range ;  these  I  shall  expedite.  You  shall  see,  Master 
Insolence,  —  you,  who  'd  throw  me  and  my  duchy 
over  for  your  trade,  —  you  shall  see  how  the  Vaufon- 
taines  will  gnash  their  teeth  !  " 

In  his  heart  Philip  was  exultant,  though  outwardly 
he  was  calm.  He  was,  however,  unprepared  for  what 
followed.  Suddenly  the  Duke,  putting  a  hand  on 
his  shoulder,  said  :  — 

"  One  thing,  cousin,  one  thing !  You  must  marry 
in  our  order,  and  at  once.  There  shall  be  no  delay. 
Succession  must  be  made  sure.  I  know  the  very 
woman,  —  the  Comtesse  Chantavoine,  —  young,  rich, 
amiable.  You  shall  meet  her  to-morrow  —  to-mor- 
row ! " 


CHAPTER    XXI 

Comtesse  Chantavoine,  young,  rich,  amiable. 
You  shall  meet  her  to-morrow  /"... 

Long  after  Philip  left  the  Duke  to  go  to  his  own 
chamber,  these  words  rang  in  his  ears.  He  suddenly 
felt  the  cords  of  fate  tightening  round  him.  So  real 
was  the  momentary  illusion  that,  as  he  passed  through 
the  great  hall  where  hung  the  portraits  of  the  Duke's 
ancestors,  he  made  a  sudden  outward  motion  of  his 
arms  as  though  to  free  himself  from  a  physical  re- 
straint. 

Strange  to  say,  he  had  never  foreseen  or  reckoned 
with  this  matter  of  marriage  in  the  designs  of  the 
Duke.  He  had  forgotten  that  sovereign  dukes  must 
make  sure  their  succession  even  unto  the  third  and 
fourth  generations.  His  first  impulse  had  been  to 
tell  the  Duke  that  to  introduce  him  to  the  Countess 
would  be  futile,  for  he  was  already  married.  But  the 
instant  warning  of  the  mind  that  his  Highness  could 
never  and  would  never  accept  the  daughter  of  a  Jer- 
sey shipbuilder  restrained  him.  He  had  no  idea  that 
Guida's  descent  from  the  noble  de  Mauprats  of  Cham- 
bery  would  weigh  with  the  Duke,  who  would  only  see 
in  her  some  apple-cheeked  peasant  stumbling  over  her 
Court  train. 

It  was  curious  that  the  Duke  had  never  even  hinted 
at  the  chance  of  his  being  already  married  —  yet  not 
so  curious  either,  since  complete  silence  concerning  a 


216  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

wife  was  in  itself  declaration  enough  that  he  was  un- 
married. He  felt  in  his  heart  that  a  finer  sense  would 
have  offered  Guida  no  such  humiliation,  for  he  knew 
the  lie  of  silence  to  be  as  evil  as  the  lie  of  speech. 

He  had  not  spoken,  partly  because  he  had  not  yet 
become  used  to  the  fact  that  he  really  was  married. 
It  had  never  been  brought  home  to  him  by  the  ever- 
present  conviction  of  habit.  One  day  of  married  life, 
or,  in  reality,  a  few  hours  of  married  life,  with  Guida 
had  given  the  sensation  more  of  a  noble  adventure 
than  of  a  lasting  condition.  With  distance  from  that 
noble  adventure,  something  of  the  glow  of  a  lover's 
relations  had  gone,  and  the  subsequent  tender  enthu- 
siasm of  mind  and  memory  was  not  vivid  enough  to 
make  him  daring  or  —  as  he  would  have  said  —  reck- 
less for  its  sake.  Yet  this  same  tender  enthusiasm 
was  sincere  enough  to  make  him  accept  the  fact  of  his 
marriage  without  discontent,  even  in  the  glamour  of 
new  and  alluring  ambitions. 

If  it  had  been  a  question  of  giving  up  Guida  or 
giving  up  the  duchy  of  Bercy,  —  if  that  had  been  put 
before  him  as  the  sole  alternative,  he  would  have  de- 
cided as  quickly  in  Guida' s  favor  as  he  did  when  he 
thought  it  was  a  question  between  the  duchy  and  the 
navy.  The  straightforward  issue  of  Guida  or  the 
duchy  he  had  not  been  called  upon  to  face.  But,  un- 
fortunately for  those  who  are  tempted,  issues  are 
never  put  quite  so  plainly  by  the  heralds  of  destiny 
and  penalty.  They  are  disguised  as  delectable  chances  : 
the  toss-up  is  always  the  temptation  of  life.  The  man 
who  uses  trust-money  for  three  days,  to  acquire  in 
those  three  days  a  fortune,  certain  as  magnificent, 
would  pull  up  short  beforehand  if  the  issue  of  theft 
or  honesty  were  put  squarely  before  him.  Morally  he 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  217 

means  no  theft  ;  he  uses  his  neighbor's  saw  until  his 
own  is  mended ;  but  he  breaks  his  neighbor's  saw,  his 
own  is  lost  on  its  homeward  way ;  having  no  money 
to  buy  another,  he  is  tried  and  convicted  on  a  charge 
of  theft.  Thus  the  custom  of  society  establishes  the 
charge  of  immorality  upon  the  technical  defect.  But 
not  on  that  alone  ;  upon  the  principle  that  what  is  com- 
mitted in  trust  shall  be  held  inviolate,  with  an  exact 
obedience  to  the  spirit  as  to  the  letter  of  the  law. 

The  issue  did  not  come  squarely  to  Philip.  He 
had  not  openly  lied  about  Guida  :  so  far  he  had  had  no 
intention  of  doing  so.  He  even  figured  to  himself  with 
what  surprise  Guida  would  greet  his  announcement 
that  she  was  henceforth  Princesse  Guida  d'Avranche, 
and  in  due  time  would  be  her  serene  highness  the 
Duchesse  de  Bercy.  Certainly  there  was  nothing  im- 
moral in  his  ambitions.  If  the  reigning  Prince  chose 
to  establish  him  as  heir,  who  had  a  right  to  complain  ? 

Then,  as  to  an  officer  of  the  English  navy  accept- 
ing succession  in  a  sovereign  duchy  in  suzerainty  to 
the  present  Government  of  France,  while  England 
was  at  war  with  her,  the  Duke  had  more  than  once, 
in  almost  so  many  words,  defined  the  situation.  Be- 
cause the  Duke  himself,  with  no  successor  assured, 
was  powerless  to  side  with  the  Royalists  against  the 
Red  Government,  he  was  at  the  moment  obliged,  for 
the  very  existence  of  his  duchy,  to  hoist  the  tricolor 
upon  the  castle  with  his  own  flag.  Once  the  succes- 
sion was  secure  beyond  the  imbecile  Leopold  John, 
then  he  would  certainly  declare  against  the  present 
fiendish  Government  and  for  the  overthrown  dynasty. 

Now  England  was  fighting  France,  not  only  because 
she  was  revolutionary  France,  but  because  of  the  mur- 
der of  Louis  XVI.  and  for  the  restoration  of  the  over- 


218  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

thrown  dynasty.  Also  she  was  in  close  sympathy 
with  the  war  of  the  Vendee,  to  which  she  would  lend 
all  possible  assistance.  Philip  argued  that  if  it  was 
his  duty,  as  a  captain  in  the  English  navy,  to  fight 
against  the  revolutionaries  from  without,  he  would  be 
beyond  criticism  if,  as  the  Due  de  Bercy,  he  also 
fought  against  them  from  within. 

Indeed,  it  was  with  this  plain  statement  of  the  facts 
that  the  second  military  officer  of  the  duchy  had  some 
days  before  been  sent  to  the  Court  of  St.  James's  to 
secure  its  intervention  for  Philip's  freedom  by  ex- 
change of  prisoners.  This  officer  was  also  charged 
with  securing  the  consent  of  the  English  King  for 
Philip's  acceptance  of  succession  in  the  duchy,  while 
retaining  his  position  in  the  English  navy.  The  envoy 
had  been  instructed  by  the  Duke  to  offer  his  sympathy 
with  England  in  the  war  and  his  secret  adherence  to 
the  Royalist  cause,  to  become  open  so  soon  as  the 
succession  through  Philip  was  secured. 

To  Philip's  mind  all  that  side  of  the  case  was  in 
his  favor,  and  sorted  well  with  his  principles  of  pro- 
fessional honor.  His  mind  was  not  so  acutely  oc- 
cupied with  his  private  honor.  To  tell  the  Duke  now 
of  his  marriage  would  be  to  load  the  dice  against  him- 
self :  he  felt  that  the  opportunity  for  speaking  of  it 
had  passed. 

He  seated  himself  at  a  table  and  took  from  his 
pocket  a  letter  of  Guida's  written  many  weeks  before, 
in  which  she  had  said  firmly  that  she  had  not  an- 
nounced the  marriage,  and  would  not ;  that  he  must 
do  it,  and  he  alone ;  that  the  letter  written  to  her 
grandfather  had  not  been  received  by  him,  and  that 
no  one  in  Jersey  knew  their  secret. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG   219 

In  reading  this  letter  again  a  wave  of  feeling  rushed 
over  him.  He  realized  the  force  and  strength  of  her 
nature :  every  word  had  a  clear,  sharp  straightforward- 
ness and  the  ring  of  truth. 

A  crisis  was  near,  and  he  must  prepare  to  meet  it. 
The  Duke  had  said  that  he  must  marry ;  a  woman 
had  already  been  chosen  for  him,  and  he  was  to  meet 
her  to-morrow.  But,  as  he  said  to  himself,  that  meant 
nothing.  To  meet  a  woman  was  not  of  necessity  to 
marry  her. 

Marry !  he  could  feel  his  flesh  creeping.  It  gave 
him  an  ugly,  startled  sensation.  It  was  like  some 
imp  of  Satan  to  drop  into  his  ear  the  suggestion  that 
princes,  ere  this,  had  been  known  to  have  two  wives, 
—  one  of  them  unofficial.  He  could  have  struck  him- 
self in  the  face  for  the  iniquity  of  the  suggestion ;  he 
flushed  from  the  indecency  of  it ;  but  so  have  sinners 
ever  flushed  as  they  set  forth  on  the  garish  road  to 
Avernus.  Yet  —  yet  somehow  he  must  carry  on  the 
farce  of  being  single  until  the  adoption  and  the  suc- 
cession had  been  formally  arranged  ! 

Vexed  with  these  unbidden  and  unwelcome  thoughts, 
he  got  up  and  walked  about  his  chamber  restlessly. 
"Guida  —  the  poor  Guida  !  "  he  said  to  himself  many 
times.  He  was  angry,  disgusted  that  those  shameful, 
irresponsible  thoughts  should  have  come  to  him.  He 
would  atone  for  all  that  —  and  more  —  when  he  was 
Prince  and  she  Princesse  d'Avranche.  But,  neverthe- 
less, he  was  ill  at  ease  with  himself.  Guida  was  off 
there  alone  in  Jersey,  — alone. 

Now,  all  at  once,  another  possibility  flashed  into  his 
mind.  Suppose  —  why,  suppose  —  thoughtless  scoun- 
drel that  he  had  been !  —  suppose  that  there  might 
come  another  than  himself  and  Guida  to  bear  his 


220     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

name  !  And  she  there  alone,  her  marriage  still  kept 
secret  —  the  danger  of  it  to  her  good  name.  But  she 
had  said  nothing  in  her  letters,  hinted  nothing.  No, 
in  none  had  there  been  the  most  distant  suggestion. 
Then  and  there  he  got  them,  one  and  all,  and  read 
every  word,  every  line,  all  through  to  the  end.  No  ; 
there  was  not  one  hint.  Of  course  it  could  not  be  so  ; 
she  would  have  —  but  no,  she  might  not  have  !  — 
Guida  was  unlike  anybody  else. 

He  read  on  and  on  again.  And  now,  somehow,  he 
thought  he  caught  in  one  of  the  letters  a  new  ring,  a 
pensive  gravity,  a  deeper  tension,  which  were  like 
ciphers  or  signals  to  tell  him  of  some  change  in  her. 
For  a  moment  he  was  shaken.  Manhood,  human 
sympathy,  surged  up  in  him.  The  flush  of  a  new 
sensation  ran  through  his  veins  like  fire.  The  first 
instinct  of  fatherhood  came  to  him,  —  a  thrilling,  up- 
lifting feeling.  But  as  suddenly  there  shot  through 
his  mind  a  thought  which  brought  him  to  his  feet  with 
a  spring. 

But  suppose  —  suppose  that  it  was  so  —  suppose 
that  through  Guida  -the  further  succession  might  pre- 
sently be  made  sure,  and  suppose  he  went  to  the 
Prince  and  told  him  all ;  that  might  win  his  favor  for 
her ;  and  the  rest  would  be  easy.  That  was  it,  as 
clear  as  day.  Meanwhile  he  would  hold  his  peace, 
and  abide  the  propitious  hour. 

For,  above  all  else  —  and  this  was  the  thing  that 
clinched  the  purpose  in  his  mind  —  above  all  else,  the 
Duke  had,  at  best,  but  a  brief  time  to  live.  But  a 
week  ago  the  Court  physician  had  told  him  that  any 
violence  or  mental  shock  might  snap  the  thread  of 
existence.  Clearly,  the  thing  was  to  go  on  as  before, 
keep  his  marriage  secret,  meet  the  Countess,  appar- 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  221 

ently  accede  to  all  the  Duke  proposed,  and  wait  —  and 
wait ! 

With  this  clear  purpose  in  his  mind  coloring  all 
that  he  might  say,  yet  crippling  the  freedom  of  his 
thought,  he  sat  down  to  write  to  Guida.  He  had  not 
yet  written  to  her,  according  to  his  parole :  this  issue 
was  clear ;  he  could  not  send  a  letter  to  Guida  until 
he  was  freed  from  that  condition.  It  had  been  a  bit- 
ter pill  to  swallow ;  and  many  times  he  had  had  to 
struggle  with  himself  since  his  arrival  at  the  Castle. 
For  whatever  the  new  ambitions  and  undertakings, 
there  was  still  a  woman  in  the  lonely  distance  for 
whose  welfare  he  was  responsible,  for  whose  happiness 
he  had  yet  done  nothing,  unless  to  give  her  his  name 
under  sombre  conditions  was  happiness  for  her.  All 
that  he  had  done  to  remind  him  of  the  wedded  life  he 
had  so  hurriedly,  so  daringly,  so  eloquently  entered 
upon,  was  to  send  his  young  wife  fifty  pounds.  Some- 
how, as  this  fact  flashed  to  his  remembrance  now,  it 
made  him  shrink ;  it  had  a  certain  cold,  commercial 
look  which  struck  him  unpleasantly.  Perhaps,  indeed, 
the  singular  and  painful  shyness  —  chill  almost  —  with 
which  Guida  had  received  the  fifty  pounds  now  com- 
municated itself  to  him  by  the  intangible  telegraphy 
of  the  mind  and  spirit. 

All  at  once  that  bare,  glacial  fact  of  having  sent 
her  fifty  pounds  acted  as  an  ironical  illumination  of 
his  real  position.  He  felt  conscious  that  Guida  would 
have  preferred  some  simple  gift,  some  little  thing  that 
women  love,  in  token  and  remembrance,  rather  than 
this  contribution  to  the  common  needs  of  existence. 
Now  that  he  came  to  think  of  it,  since  he  had  left  her 
in  Jersey,  he  had  never  sent  her  ever  so  small  a  gift. 
He  had  never  given  her  any  gifts  at  all  save  the  Mai- 


222  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

tese  cross  in  her  childhood  —  and  her  wedding-ring. 
As  for  the  ring,  it  had  never  occurred  to  him  that 
she  could  not  wear  it  save  in  the  stillness  of  the  night, 
unseen  by  any  eye  save  her  own.  He  could  not  know 
that  she  had  been  wont  to  go  to  sleep  with  the  hand 
clasped  to  her  breast,  pressing  close  to  her  the  one 
outward  token  she  had  of  a  new  life,  begun  with  a 
sweetness  which  was  very  bitter  and  a  bitterness  only 
a  little  sweet. 

Philip  was  in  no  fitting  mood  to  write  a  letter.  Too 
many  emotions  were  in  conflict  in  him  at  once.  They 
were  having  their  way  with  him  ;  and,  perhaps,  in  this 
very  complexity  of  his  feelings  he  came  nearer  to  be- 
ing really  and  acutely  himself  than  he  had  ever  been 
in  his  life.  Indeed,  there  was  a  moment  when  he  was 
almost  ready  to  consign  the  Duke  and  all  that  apper- 
tained to  the  devil  or  the  deep  sea,  and  to  take  his 
fate  as  it  came.  But  one  of  the  other  selves  of  him, 
calling  down  from  the  little  attic  where  dark  things 
brood,  told  him  that  to  throw  up  his  present  chances 
would  bring  him  no  nearer  and  no  sooner  to  Guida, 
and  must  return  him  to  the  prison  whence  he  came. 

But  he  would  write  to  Guida  now,  and  send  the  let- 
ter when  he  was  released  from  parole.  His  courage 
grew  as  the  sentences  spread  out  before  him  ;  he  be- 
came eloquent.  He  told  her  how  heavily  the  days 
and  months  went  on  apart  from  her.  He  emptied  out 
the  sensations  of  absence,  loneliness,  desire,  and  affec- 
tion. All  at  once  he  stopped  short.  It  flashed  upon 
him  now  that  always  his  letters  had  been  entirely  of 
his  own  doings ;  he  had  pictured  himself  always  :  his 
own  loneliness,  his  own  grief  at  separation.  He  had 
never  yet  spoken  of  the  details  of  her  life,  questioned 
her  of  this  and  of  that,  of  all  the  little  things  which 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     223 

fill  the  life  of  a  woman  —  not  because  she  loves  them, 
but  because  she  is  a  woman,  and  the  knowledge  and 
governance  of  little  things  is  the  habit  of  her  life. 
His  past  egotism  was  borne  in  upon  him  now.  He 
would  try  to  atone  for  it.  Now  he  asked  her  many 
questions  in  his  letter.  But  one  he  did  not  ask.  He 
knew  not  how  to  speak  to  her  of  it.  The  fact  that  he 
could  not  was  a  powerful  indictment  of  his  relations 
towards  her,  of  his  treatment  of  her,  of  his  headlong 
courtship  and  marriage. 

So  portions  of  this  letter  of  his  had  not  the  perfect 
ring  of  truth,  not  the  conviction  which  unselfish  love 
alone  can  beget.  It  was  only  at  the  last,  only  when 
he  came  to  a  close,  that  the  words  went  from  him 
with  the  sharp  photography  of  his  own  heart.  It 
came,  perhaps,  from  a  remorse  which,  for  the  instant, 
foreshadowed  danger  ahead ;  from  an  acute  pity  for 
her ;  or  perchance  from  a  longing  -to  forego  the  at- 
tempt upon  an  exalted  place,  and  get  back  to  the 
straightforward  hours,  such  as  those  upon  the  Ecrehos, 
when  he  knew  that  he  loved  her.  But  the  sharpness 
of  his  feelings  rendered  more  intense  now  the  declara- 
tion of  his  love.  The  phrases  were  wrung  from  him. 
"Good-by —  no,  a  la  bonne  heure,  my  dearest,"  he 
wrote  ;  "  good  days  are  coming  —  brave,  great  days, 
when  I  shall  be  free  to  strike  another  blow  for  Eng- 
land, both  from  within  and  from  without  France; 
when  I  shall  be,  if  all  go  well,  the  Prince  d'Avranche, 
Due  de  Bercy,  and  you  my  perfect  Princess.  Good- 
by  !  Thy  Philip,  qui  £ aime  toujoiirs" 

He  had  hardly  written  the  last  words  when  there 
came  a  knocking  at  his  door,  and  a  servant  entered. 

"  His  Highness  offers  his  compliments  to  monsieur, 
and  will  monsieur  descend  to  meet  the  Marquis 


224  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

Grandjon  -  Larisse  and  the  Comtesse  Chantavoine, 
who  have  but  just  arrived." 

For  an  instant  Philip  could  scarce  compose  himself, 
but  he  sent  a  message  of  obedience  to  the  Duke's 
command,  and  prepared  to  go  down. 

So  it  was  come,  —  not  to  -  morrow,  but  to  -  day. 
Already  the  deep  game  was  on.  With  a  sigh  which 
was  half  bitter  and  mocking  laughter,  he  seized  the 
pounce-box,  dried  the  letter  to  Guida,  and  put  it  in  his 
pocket.  As  he  descended  the  staircase,  the  last 
words  of  it  kept  assailing  his  mind,  singing  in  his 
brain  :  — 

"  Thy  Philip,  qui  faime  toujours  !  " 


CHAPTER    XXII 

NOT  many  evenings  after  Philip's  first  interview 
with  the  comtesse  Chantavoine,  a  visitor 
arrived  at  the  Castle.  From  his  roundabout  ap- 
proach up  the  steep  cliff  in  the  dusk  it  was  clear 
he  wished  to  avoid  notice.  Of  gallant  bearing,  he 
was  attired  in  a  fashion  unlike  the  citizens  of  Bercy, 
or  the  Republican  military  often  to  be  seen  in  the 
streets  of  the  town.  The  whole  relief  of  the  costume 
was  white  :  white  sash,  white  cuffs  turned  back,  white 
collar,  white  rosette  and  band,  white  and  red  bandeau, 
and  the  faint  glitter  of  a  white  shirt.  In  contrast, 
were  the  black  hat  and  plume,  black  top-boots  with 
huge  spurs,  and  yellow  breeches.  He  carried  a  gun 
and  a  sword,  and  a  pistol  was  stuck  in  the  white 
sash.  But  one  thing  caught  the  eye  more  than  all 
else  :  a  white  square  on  the  breast  of  the  long  brown 
coat,  strangely  ornamented  with  a  red  heart  and  a 
cross.  He  was  evidently  a  soldier  of  high  rank,  but 
not  of  the  army  of  the  Republic. 

The  face  was  that  of  a  devotee,  not  of  peace  but 
of  war  —  of  some  forlorn  crusade.  It  had  deep  en- 
thusiasm, which  yet  to  the  trained  observer  would 
seem  rather  the  tireless  faith  of  a  convert  than  the 
disposition  of  the  natural  man.  It  was  somewhat 
heavily  lined  for  one  so  young,  and  the  marks  of  a 
hard  life  were  on  him ;  but  distinction  and  energy 
were  in  his  look  and  in  every  turn  of  his  body. 


226  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

Arriving  at  the  Castle,  he  knocked  at  the  postern. 
At  first  sight  of  him  the  porter  suspiciously  blocked 
the  entrance  with  his  person,  but,  seeing  the  badge 
upon  his  breast,  stood  at  gaze,  and  a  look  of  keen  curi- 
osity crossed  over  his  face.  On  the  visitor  announcing 
himself  as  a  Vaufontaine,  this  curiosity  gave  place  to 
as  keen  surprise ;  he  was  admitted  with  every  mark 
of  respect,  and  the  gates  closed  behind  him. 

"  Has  his  Highness  any  visitors  ?  "  he  asked  as  he 
dismounted. 

The  porter  nodded  assent. 

"Who  are  they?"  He  slipped  a  coin  into  the 
porter's  hand. 

"  One  of  the  family,  —  or  so  his  Serene  Highness 
calls  him." 

"  H'm,  indeed !     A  Vaufontaine,  friend  ?  " 

"No,  monsieur,  a  d'Avranche." 

"  What  d'Avranche  ?     Not  Prince  Leopold  John  ?  " 

"  No,  monsieur,  the  name  is  the  same  as  his  High- 
ness's." 

"  Philip  d'Avranche  ?     Ah,  from  whence  ? " 

"  From  Paris,  monsieur,  with  his  Highness." 

The  visitor,  whistling  softly  to  himself,  stood  think- 
ing a  moment.  Presently  he  said  :  — 

"  How  old  is  he  ? " 

"About  the  same  age  as  monsieur." 

"  How  does  he  occupy  himself  ? " 

"  He  walks,  rides,  talks  with  his  Highness,  asks 
questions  of  the  people,  reads  in  the  library,  and 
sometimes  shoots  and  fishes." 

"  Is  he  a  soldier  ?  " 

"He  carries  no  sword,  and  he  takes  long  aim  with 
a  gun ! " 

A  sly  smile  was  lurking  about  the  porter's  mouth. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  227 

The  visitor  drew  from  his  pocket  a  second  gold  piece, 
and,  slipping  it  into  the  other's  hand,  said :  "  Tell  it 
all  at  once.  Who  is  the  gentleman,  and  what  is  his 
business  here  ?  Is  he,  perhaps,  on  the  side  of  the 
Revolution,  or  does  he  —  keep  better  company  ?  " 

He  looked  keenly  into  the  eyes  of  the  porter,  who 
screwed  up  his  own,  returning  the  gaze  unflinchingly. 
Handing  back  the  gold  piece,  the  man  answered 
firmly :  — 

"  I  have  told  monsieur  what  every  one  in  the  duchy 
knows  ;  there  's  no  charge  for  that.  For  what  more 
his  Highness  and  —  and  those  in  his  Highness'  confi- 
dence know,"  he  drew  himself  up  with  brusque  impor- 
tance, "there  's  no  price,  monsieur." 

"  Body  o'  me,  here  's  pride  and  vainglory ! "  answered 
the  other.  "  But  I  know  you,  my  fine  Pergot,  I  knew 
you  almost  too  well  years  ago  ;  and  then  you  were  not 
so  sensitive ;  then  you  were  a  good  Royalist  like  me, 
Pergot." 

This  time  he  fastened  the  man's  look  with  his  own, 
and  held  it  until  Pergot  dropped  his  head  before  it. 

"  I  don't  remember  monsieur,"  he  answered,  per- 
turbed. 

"  Of  course  not.  The  fine  Pergot  has  a  bad  mem- 
ory, like  a  good  Republican,  who  by  law  cannot  worship 
his  God,  or  make  the  sign  of  the  Cross,  or  ask  the 
priest  to  visit  him  when  he  's  dying.  A  red  Revolu- 
tionist is  our  Pergot  now  !  " 

"  I  'm  as  good  a  Royalist  as  monsieur,"  retorted  the 
man  with  some  asperity.  "  So  are  most  of  us.  Only 
—  only  his  Highness  says  to  us  "  — 

"  Don't  gossip  of  what  his  Highness  says,  but  do 
his  bidding,  Pergot.  What  a  fool  are  you  to  babble 
thus  !  How  d'  ye  know  but  I  'm  one  of  Fouche's  or 


228     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

Barere's  men  ?  How  d'  ye  know  but  there  are  five 
hundred  men  beyond  waiting  for  my  whistle  ? " 

The  man  changed  instantly.  His  hand  was  at  his 
side  like  lightning.  "  They  'd  never  hear  that  whistle, 
monsieur,  though  you  be  Vaufontaine  or  no  Vaufon- 
taine ! " 

The  other,  smiling,  reached  out  and  touched  him 
on  the  shoulder  kindly. 

"My  dear  Frange  Pergot,"  said  he,  "that's  the 
man  I  knew  once,  and  the  sort  of  man  that 's  been 
fighting  with  me  for  the  Church  and  for  the  King 
these  months  past  in  the  Vendee.  Come,  come,  don't 
you  know  me,  Pergot  ?  Don't  you  remember  the 
scapegrace  with  whom,  for  a  jape,  you  waylaid  my 
uncle  the  Cardinal  and  robbed  him,  then  sold  him 
back  his  jeweled  watch  for  a  year's  indulgences  ?  " 

"  But  no,  no,"  answered  the  man,  crossing  himself 
quickly,  and  by  the  dim  lantern  light  peering  into 
the  visitor's  face,  "it  is  not  possible,  monsieur.  The 
Comte  Detricand  de  Tournay  —  God  rest  him !  — 
died  in  the  Jersey  Isle,  with  him  they  called  Rulle- 
cour." 

"  Well,  well,  you  might  at  least  remember  this," 
rejoined  the  other,  and  with  a  smile  he  showed  an  old 
scar  in  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

A  little  later  was  ushered  into  the  library  of  the 
castle  the  Comte  Detricand  de  Tournay,  who,  under 
the  name  of  Savary  dit  Detricand,  had  lived  in  the 
Isle  of  Jersey  for  many  years.  There  he  had  been  a 
dissipated  idler,  a  keeper  of  worthless  company,  an 
alien  coolly  accepting  the  hospitality  of  a  country  he 
had  ruthlessly  invaded  as  a  boy.  Now,  returned  from 
vagabondage,  he  was  the  valiant  and  honored  heir  of 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     229 

the  House  of  Vaufontaine,  and  heir-presumptive  of 
the  House  of  Bercy. 

True  to  his  intention,  Detricand  had  joined  de  la 
Rochejaquelein,  the  intrepid,  inspired  leader  of  the 
Vendee,  whose  sentiments  became  his  own,  — ".Iff 
advance,  follow  me  ;  if  I  retreat,  kill  me  ;  if  I  fall, 
avenge  me."  He  had  proven  himself  daring,  cour- 
ageous, resourceful.  His  unvarying  gayety  of  spirits 
infected  the  simple  peasants  with  a  rebounding  en- 
ergy ;  his  fearlessness  inspired  their  confidence ;  his 
kindness  to  the  wounded,  friend  or  foe,  his  mercy  to 
prisoners,  the  respect  he  showed  devoted  priests  who 
shared  with  the  peasants  the  perils  of  war,  made  him 
beloved. 

From  the  first  all  the  leaders  trusted  him,  and  he 
sprang  in  a  day,  as  had  done  the  peasants  Cathelineau, 
d'Elbee,  and  StofHet,  or  gentlemen  like  Lescure  and 
Bonchamp,  and  noble  fighters  like  d'Antichamp  and 
the  Prince  of  Talmont,  to  an  outstanding  position  in 
the  Royalist  army.  Again  and  again  he  had  been  en- 
gaged in  perilous  sorties  and  leading  forlorn  hopes. 
He  had  now  come  from  the  splendid  victory  at  Sau- 
mur  to  urge  his  kinsman,  the  Due  de  Bercy,  to  join 
the  Royalists. 

He  had  powerful  arguments  to  lay  before  a  noble- 
man the  whole  traditions  of  whose  house  were  of  con- 
stant alliance  with  the  Crown  of  France,  whose  very 
duchy  had  been  the  gift  of  a  French  monarch.  De- 
tricand had  not  seen  the  Duke  since  he  was  a  lad  at 
Versailles,  and  there  would  be  much  in  his  favor,  for 
of  all  the  Vaufontaines  the  Duke  had  reason  to  dis- 
like him  least,  and  some  winning  power  in  him  had  of 
late  grown  deep  and  penetrating. 

When  the  Duke  entered  upon  him  in  the  library, 


230  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

he  was  under  the  immediate  influence  of  a  stimulating 
talk  with  Philip  d'Avranche  and  the  chief  officers  of 
the  duchy.  With  the  memory  of  past  feuds  and 
hatreds  in  his  mind,  and  predisposed  against  any 
Vaufontaine,  his  greeting  was  courteously  disdainful, 
his  manner  preoccupied. 

Remarking  that  he  had  but  lately  heard  of  Mon- 
sieur le  Comte's  return  to  France,  he  hoped  he  had 
enjoyed  his  career  in,  —  was  it  then  England  or  Amer- 
ica ?  But  yes,  he  remembered,  it  began  with  an  ex- 
pedition to  take  the  Channel  Isles  from  England,  an 
insolent,  a  criminal  business  in  time  of  peace,  fit  only 
for  boys  or  buccaneers.  Had  Monsieur  le  Comte 
then  spent  all  these  years  in  the  Channel  Isles  —  a 
prisoner  perhaps  ?  No  ?  Fastening  his  eyes  cyni- 
cally on  the  symbol  of  the  Royalist  cause  on  Detri- 
cand's  breast,  he  asked  to  what  he  was  indebted  for 
the  honor  of  this  present  visit.  Perhaps,  he  added 
dryly,  it  was  to  inquire  after  his  own  health,  which,  he 
was  glad  to  assure  Monsieur  le  Comte  and  all  his 
cousins  of  Vaufontaine,  was  never  better. 

The  face  was  like  a  leather  mask,  telling  nothing 
of  the  arid  sarcasm  in  the  voice.  The  shoulders  were 
shrunken,  the  temples  fallen  in,  the  neck  behind  was 
pinched,  and  the  eyes  looked  out  like  brown  beads 
alive  with  fire,  and  touched  with  the  excitement  of 
monomania.  His  last  word  had  a  delicate  savagery 
of  irony,  though,  too,  there  could  be  heard  in  the 
tone  a  defiance,  arguing  apprehension,  not  lost  upon 
his  visitor. 

Detricand  had  inwardly  smiled  during  the  old  man's 
monologue,  broken  only  by  courteous,  half-articulate 
interjections  on  his  own  part.  He  knew  too  well  the 
old  feud  between  their  houses,  the  ambition  that  had 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     231 

possessed  many  a  Vaufontaine  to  inherit  the  duke- 
dom of  Bercy,  and  the  Duke's  futile  revolt  against 
that  possibility.  But  for  himself,  now  heir  to  the 
principality  of  Vaufontaine,  and  therefrom,  by  rever- 
sion, to  that  of  Bercy,  it  had  no  importance. 

He  had  but  one  passion  now,  and  it  burned  clear 
and  strong,  it  dominated,  it  possessed  him.  He  would 
have  given  up  any  worldly  honor  to  see  it  succeed. 
He  had  idled  and  misspent  too  many  years,  been 
vaurien  and  ne'er-do-well  too  long  to  be  sordid  now. 
Even  as  the  grievous  sinner,  come  from  dark  ways, 
turns  with  furious  and  tireless  strength  to  piety  and 
good  works,  so  this  vagabond  of  noble  family,  wheel- 
ing suddenly  in  his  tracks,  had  thrown  himself  into  a 
cause  which  was  all  sacrifice,  courage,  and  unselfish 
patriotism  —  a  holy  warfare.  The  last  bitter  thrust 
of  the  Duke  had  touched  no  raw  flesh,  his  withers 
were  unwrung.  Gifted  to  thrust  in  return,  and  with 
warrant  to  do  so,  he  put  aside  the  temptation,  and 
answered  his  kinsman  with  daylight  clearness. 

"  Monsieur  le  Due,"  said  he,  "  I  am  glad  your  health 
is  good  —  it  better  suits  the  purpose  of  this  interview. 
I  am  come  on  business,  and  on  that  alone.  I  am  from 
Saumur,  where  I  left  de  la  Rochejaquelein,  Stofflet, 
Cathelineau  and  Lescure  masters  of  the  city  and  vic- 
tors over  Coustard's  army.  We  have  taken  eleven 
thousand  prisoners,  and  "  — 

"I  have  heard  a  rumor"  —  interjected  the  Duke 
impatiently. 

"  I  will  give  you  fact,"  continued  Detricand,  and  he 
told  of  the  series  of  successes  lately  come  to  the  army 
of  the  Vendee.  It  was  the  heyday  of  the  cause. 

"  And  how  does  all  this  concern  me  ?  "  asked  the 
Duke. 


232  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

"  I  am  come  to  beg  you  to  join  us,  to  declare  for 
our  cause,  for  the  Church  and  for  the  King.  Yours 
is  of  the  noblest  names  in  France.  Will  you  not 
stand  openly  for  what  you  cannot  waver  from  in  your 
heart  ?  If  the  Due  de  Bercy  declares  for  us,  others 
will  come  out  of  exile,  and  from  submission  to  the 
rebel  Government,  to  our  aid.  My  mission  is  to  beg 
you  to  put  aside  whatever  reasons  you  have  had  for 
alliance  with  this  savage  Government,  and  proclaim 
for  the  King." 

The  Duke  never  took  his  eyes  from  Detricand's. 
What  was  going  on  behind  that  parchment  face,  who 
might  say  ? 

"Are  you  aware,"  he  answered  Detricand  at  last, 
"that  I  could  send  you  straight  from  here  to  the 
guillotine  ? " 

"  So  could  the  porter  at  your  gates,  but  he  loves 
France  almost  as  well  as  does  the  Due  de  Bercy." 

"  You  take  refuge  in  the  fact  that  you  are  my  kins- 
man," returned  the  Duke  acidly. 

"  The  honor  is  stimulating,  but  I  should  not  seek 
salvation  by  it.  I  have  the  greater  safety  of  being 
your  guest,"  answered  Detricand  with  dignity. 

"Too  premature  a  sanctuary  for  a  Vaufontaine !  " 
retorted  the  Duke,  fighting  down  growing  admiration 
for  a  kinsman  whose  family  he  would  gladly  root  out, 
if  it  lay  in  his  power. 

Detricand  made  a  gesture  of  impatience,  for  he  felt 
that  his  appeal  had  availed  nothing,  and  he  had  no 
heart  for  a  battle  of  words.  His  wit  had  been  tem- 
pered in  many  fires,  his  nature  was  non-incandescent 
to  praise  or  gibe.  He  had  had  his  share  of  pastime ; 
now  had  come  his  share  of  toil,  and  the  mood  for 
give  and  take  of  words  was  not  on  him. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  233 

He  went  straight  to  the  point  now.  Hopelessly 
he  spoke  the  plain  truth. 

"  I  want  nothing  of  the  Prince  d'Avranche  but  his 
weight  and  power  in  a  cause  for  which  the  best  gen- 
tlemen of  France  are  giving  their  lives.  I  fasten  my 
eyes  on  France  alone  :  I  fight  for  the  throne  of  Louis, 
not  for  the  duchy  of  Bercy.  The  duchy  of  Bercy 
may  sink  or  swim  for  all  of  me,  if  so  be  it  does  not 
stand  with  us  in  our  holy  war." 

The  Duke  interjected  a  disdainful  laugh.  Suddenly 
there  shot  into  Detricand's  mind  a  suggestion,  which, 
wild  as  it  was,  might  after  all  belong  to  the  grotesque 
realities  of  life.  So  he  added  with  deliberation  :  — 

"  If  alliance  must  still  be  kept  with  this  evil  Gov- 
ernment of  France,  then  be  sure  there  is  no  Vaufon- 
taine  who  would  care  to  inherit  a  duchy  so  discredited. 
To  meet  that  peril  the  Due  de  Bercy  will  do  well  to 
consult  his  new  kinsman,  — Philip  d'Avranche." 

For  a  moment  there  was  absolute  silence  in  the 
room.  The  old  nobleman's  look  was  like  a  flash  of 
flame  in  a  mask  of  dead  flesh.  The  short  upper  lip 
was  arrested  in  a  sort  of  snarl,  the  fingers,  half -closed, 
were  hooked  like  talons,  and  the  whole  man  was  a 
picture  of  surprise,  fury,  and  injured  pride.  The  Due 
de  Bercy  to  be  harangued  to  his  duty,  scathed,  mea- 
sured, disapproved,  and  counseled,  by  a  stripling  Vau- 
fontaine — it  was  monstrous  ! 

It  had  the  bitterness  of  aloes  also,  for  in  his  own 
heart  he  knew  that  Detricand  spoke  truth.  The 
fearless  appeal  had  roused  him,  for  a  moment  at  least, 
to  the  beauty  and  righteousness  of  a  sombre,  all  but 
hopeless,  cause,  while  the  impeachment  had  pierced 
every  sore  in  his  heart.  He  felt  now  the  smarting 
anger,  the  outraged  vanity  of  the  wrongdoer,  who, 


234  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

having  argued  down  his  own  conscience,  and  believing 
he  has  blinded  others  as  himself,  suddenly  finds  that 
himself  and  his  motives  are  naked  before  the  world. 

Detricand  had  known  regretfully,  even  as  he  spoke, 
that  the  Duke,  no  matter  what  the  reason,  would  not 
now  ally  himself  with  the  Royalists  ;  though,  had  his 
life  been  in  danger,  he  still  would  have  spoken  the 
truth.  So  he  had  been  human  enough  to  try  and 
force  open  the  door  of  mystery  by  a  biting  suggestion  ; 
for  he  had  a  feeling  that  in  the  presence  of  the  mys- 
terious kinsman,  Philip  d'Avranche,  lay  the  cause  of 
the  Duke's  resistance  to  his  prayer.  Who  was  this 
Philip  d'Avranche  ?  At  the  moment  it  seemed  ab- 
surd to  him  that  his  mind  should  travel  back  to  the 
Isle  of  Jersey. 

The  fury  of  the  Duke  was  about  to  break  forth, 
when  the  door  of  the  chamber  opened  and  Philip 
stepped  inside.  The  silence  holding  two  men  now 
held  three,  and  a  curious,  cold  astonishment  possessed 
the  two  younger.  The  Duke  was  too  blind  with 
anger  to  see  the  start  of  recognition  his  visitors  gave 
at  sight  of  each  other,  and  by  a  concurrence  of  feel- 
ing neither  Detricand  nor  Philip  gave  sign  of  acquaint- 
ance. Wariness  was  Philip's  cue  ;  wondering  caution 
Detricand's  attitude. 

The  Duke  spoke  first.  Turning  from  Philip,  he 
said  to  Detricand  with  malicious  triumph  :  — 

"  It  will  disconcert  your  pious  mind  to  know  I  have 
yet  one  kinsman  who  counts  it  no  shame  to  inherit 
Bercy.  Monsieur  le  Comte,  I  give  you  here  the  honor 
to  know  Captain  Philip  d'Avranche." 

Something  of  Detricand's  old  buoyant  self  came 
back  to  him.  His  face  flushed  with  sudden  desire  to 
laugh,  then  it  paled  in  dumb  astonishment.  So  this 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     235 

man,  Philip  d'Avranche,  was  to  be  set  against  him 
even  in  the  heritage  of  his  family,  as  for  one  hour  in 
a  Jersey  kitchen  they  had  been  bitter  opposites.  For 
the  heritage  of  the  Houses  of  Vaufontaine  and  Bercy 
.he  cared  little  —  he  had  deeper  ambitions  ;  but  this 
adventuring  sailor  roused  in  him  again  the  private 
grudge  he  had  once  begged  him  to  remember.  Re- 
covering himself,  he  answered  meaningly,  bowing 
low  :  "  The  honor  is  memorable  —  and  monstrous  !  " 

Philip  set  his  teeth,  but  replied  :  "  I  am  overwhelmed 
to  meet  one  whose  reputation  is  known  —  in  every 
taproom ! " 

Neither  had  chanced  to  say  more,  for  the  Duke, 
though  not  conceiving  the  cause  or  meaning  of  the 
biting  words,  felt  the  contemptuous  suggestion  in 
Detricand's  voice,  and  burst  out  in  anger:  — 

"  Go  tell  the  Prince  of  Vaufontaine  that  the  succes- 
sion is  assured  to  my  house.  Monsieur  my  cousin, 
Captain  Philip  d'Avranche,  is  now  my  adopted  son  ; 
a  wife  is  chosen  for  him,  and  soon,  Monsieur  le  Comte, 
there  will  be  still  another  successor  to  the  title." 

"  The  Due  de  Bercy  should  add  inspired  domestic 
prophecy  to  the  family  record  in  the  '  Almanach  de 
Gotha,'  "  answered  Detricand. 

"  God's  death  !  "  cried  the  old  nobleman,  trembling 
with  rage,  and  stretching  towards  the  bell-rope,  "  you 
shall  go  to  Paris  and  the  Temple.  Fouch6  will  take 
care  of  you !  " 

"  Stop,  Monsieur  le  Due  !  "  Detricand's  voice  rang 
through  the  room.  "  You  shall  not  betray  even  the 
humblest  of  your  kinsmen,  like  that  monster  d'Orle'ans 
who  betrayed  the  highest  of  his.  Be  wise  :  there  are 
hundreds  of  your  people  who  still  will  pass  a  Royalist 
on  to  safety." 


236  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

The  Duke's  hand  dropped  from  the  bell-rope.  He 
knew  that  Detricand's  words  were  true.  Ruling  him- 
self to  quiet,  he  said  with  cold  hatred  :  — 

"  Like  all  your  breed,  crafty  and  insolent !  But  I 
will  make  you  pay  for  it  one  day." 

Glancing  towards  Philip  as  though  to  see  if  he  could 
move  him,  Detricand  answered :  "  Make  no  haste  on 
my  behalf  ;  years  are  not  of  such  moment  to  me  as  to 
your  Highness  !  " 

Philip  saw  Detricand's  look,  and  felt  his  moment 
and  his  chance  had  come.  "  Monsieur  le  Comte ! "  he 
exclaimed  threateningly. 

The  Duke  glanced  proudly  at  Philip.  "  You  will 
collect  the  debt,  cousin,"  said  he,  and  the  smile  on  his 
face  was  wicked  as  he  again  turned  towards  Detricand. 

"With  interest  well  compounded,"  answered  Philip 
firmly. 

Detricand  smiled.  "  I  have  drawn  the  Norman- 
Jersey  cousin,  then  !  "  said  he.  "  Now  we  can  proceed 
to  compliments."  Then  with  a  change  of  manner  he 
added  quietly:  "Your  Highness,  may  the  House  of 
Bercy  have  no  worse  enemy  than  I !  I  came  only  to 
plead  the  cause  which,  if  it  give  death,  gives  honor, 
too.  And  I  know  well  that  at  least  you  are  not 
against  us  in  heart.  Monsieur  d'Avranche,"  —  he 
turned  to  Philip,  and  his  words  were  slow  and  delib- 
erate, —  "I  hope  we  may  yet  meet  in  the  Place  du 
Vier  Prison,  —  but  when  and  where  you  will ;  and  you 
shall  find  me  in  the  Vendee  when  you  please."  So 
saying,  he  bowed,  and,  turning,  left  the  room. 

"  What  meant  the  fellow  by  his  Place  du  Vier 
Prison  ? "  asked  the  Duke. 

"  Who  knows,  Monsieur  le  Due  ? "  answered  Philip. 

"  A  fanatic  like  all  the  Vauf ontaines  ;  a  roysterer 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     237 

yesterday,  a  sainted  chevalier  to-morrow !  "  said  the 
Duke  irritably.  "But  they  still  have  strength  and 
beauty  —  always  !  "  he  added  reluctantly.  Then  he 
looked  at  the  strong  and  comely  frame  before  him, 
and  was  reassured.  He  laid  a  hand  on  Philip's  broad 
shoulder,  and  said  admiringly :  — 

"  You  will  of  course  have  your  hour  with  him, 
cousin  ;  but  not  —  not  till  you  are  a  d' Avranche  of 
Bercy !  " 

"  Not  till  I  am  a  d' Avranche  of  Bercy,"  responded 
Philip  in  a  low  voice. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

WITH  what  seemed  an  unnecessary  boldness, 
Detricand  slept  that  night  at  the  inn,  "  The 
Golden  Crown,"  in  the  town  of  Bercy  :  a  Royalist  of 
the  Vendee  exposing  himself  to  deadly  peril  in  a  town 
sworn  to  alliance  with  the  Revolutionary  Government. 
He  knew  that  the  town,  even  the  inn,  might  be  full 
of  spies  ;  but  one  other  thing  he  also  knew  :  the  inn- 
keeper of  "  The  Golden  Crown "  would  not  betray 
him,  unless  he  had  greatly  changed  since  fifteen  years 
ago.  Then  they  had  been  friends,  for  his  uncle  of 
Vaufontaine  had  had  a  small  estate  in  Bercy  itself,  in 
ironical  proximity  to  the  Castle. 

He  walked  boldly  into  the  inn  parlor.  There  were 
but  four  men  in  the  room,  —  the  landlord,  two  stout 
burghers,  and  Frange  Pergot,  the  porter  of  the  Castle, 
who  had  lost  no  time  carrying  his  news  :  not  to  betray 
his  old  comrade  in  escapade,  but  to  tell  a  chosen  few, 
Royalists  under  the  rose,  that  he  had  seen  one  of 
those  servants  of  God,  an  officer  of  the  Vendee. 

At  sight  of  the  white  badge  with  the  red  cross  on 
Detricand's  coat,  the  four  stood  up  and  answered  his 
greeting  with  devout  respect ;  and  he  had  speedy 
assurance  that  in  this  inn  he  was  safe  from  betrayal. 
Presently  he  learned  that  three  days  hence  a  meeting 
of  the  States  of  Bercy  was  to  be  held  for  setting  the 
seal  upon  the  Duke's  formal  adoption  of  Philip,  and 
to  execute  a  deed  of  succession.  It  was  deemed  cer- 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  239 

tain  that,  ere  this,  the  officer  sent  to  England  would 
have  returned  with  Philip's  freedom  and  King  George's 
license  to  accept  the  succession  in  the  duchy.  From 
interest  in  these  matters  alone  Detricand  would  not 
have  remained  at  Bercy,  but  he  thought  to  use  the 
time  for  secretly  meeting  officers  of  the  duchy  likely 
to  favor  the  cause  of  the  Royalists. 

During  these  three  days  of  waiting  he  heard  with 
grave  concern  a  rumor  that  the  great  meeting  of  the 
States  would  be  marked  by  Philip's  betrothal  with 
the  Comtesse  Chantavoine.  He  cared  naught  for  the 
succession,  but  there  was  ever  with  him  the  remem- 
brance of  Guida  Landresse  de  Landresse ;  and  what 
touched  Philip  d'Avranche  he  had  come  to  associate 
with  her.  Of  the  true  relations  between  Guida  and 
Philip  he  knew  nothing,  but  from  that  last  day  in 
Jersey  he  did  know  that  Philip  had  roused  in  her 
emotions,  perhaps  less  vital  than  love,  but  certainly 
less  equable  than  friendship. 

Now  in  his  fear  that  Guida  might  suffer,  the  more 
he  thought  of  the  Comtesse  Chantavoine  as  the  chosen 
wife  of  Philip  the  more  it  troubled  him.  He  could 
not  shake  off  oppressive  thoughts  concerning  Guida 
and  this  betrothal.  They  interwove  themselves 
through  all  his  secret  business  with  the  Royalists  of 
Bercy.  For  his  own  part,  he  would  have  gone  far 
and  done  much  to  shield  her  from  injury.  He  had 
seen  and  known  in  her  something  higher  than  Philip 
might  understand  —  a  simple  womanliness,  a  profound 
depth  of  character.  His  pledge  to  her  had  been  the 
keynote  of  his  new  life.  Some  day,  if  he  lived  and 
his  cause  prospered,  he  would  go  back  to  Jersey  — 
too  late  perhaps  to  tell  her  what  was  in  his  heart,  but 
not  too  late  to  tell  her  the  promise  had  been  kept. 


240  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

It  was  a  relief  when  the  morning  of  the  third  day 
came,  bright  and  joyous,  and  he  knew  that  before  the 
sun  went  down  he  should  be  on  his  way  back  to 
Saumur.  His  friend  the  innkeeper  urged  him  not 
to  attend  the  meeting  of  the  States  of  Bercy,  lest 
he  should  be  recognized  by  spies  of  Government.  He 
was,  however,  firm  in  his  will  to  go,  but  he  exchanged 
his  coat  with  the  red  cross  for  one  less  conspicuous. 

With  this  eventful  morn  came  the  news  that  the 
envoy  to  England  had  returned  with  Philip's  freedom 
by  exchange  of  prisoners,  and  with  the  needful  license 
from  King  George.  But  other  news  too  was  carrying 
through  the  town :  the  French  Government,  having 
learned  of  the  Duke's  intentions  towards  Philip,  had 
dispatched  envoys  from  Paris  to  forbid  the  adoption 
and  deed  of  succession. 

Though  the  Duke  would  have  defied  them,  it  be- 
hooved him  to  end  the  matter,  if  possible,  before  these 
envoys'  arrival.  The  States  therefore  was  hurriedly 
convened  two  hours  before  the  time  appointed,  and 
the  race  began  between  the  Duke  and  the  emissaries 
of  the  French  Government. 

It  was  a  perfect  day,  and  as  the  brilliant  procession 
wound  down  the  great  rock  from  the  Castle,  in  ever- 
increasing,  glittering  line,  the  effect  was  mediaeval  in 
its  glowing  splendor.  All  had  been  ready  for  two 
days,  and  the  general  enthusiasm  had  seized  upon  the 
occasion  with  an  adventurous  picturesqueness,  in 
keeping  with  this  strange  elevation  of  a  simple  British 
captain  to  royal  estate.  This  buoyant,  clear-faced, 
stalwart  figure  had  sprung  suddenly  out  of  the  dark 
into  the  garish  light  of  sovereign  place,  and  the  imagi- 
nation of  the  people  had  been  touched.  He  was  so 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  241 

genial  too,  so  easy-mannered,  this  d'Avranche  of 
Jersey,  whose  genealogy  had  been  posted  on  a  hun- 
dred walls  and  carried  by  a  thousand  mouths  through 
the  principality.  As  Philip  rode  past  on  the  left  of 
the  exulting  Duke,  the  crowds  cheered  him  wildly. 
Only  on  the  faces  of  Comte  Carignan  Damour  and 
his  friends  was  discontent,  and  they  must  perforce  be 
still.  Philip  himself  was  outwardly  calm,  with  that 
desperate  quiet  which  belongs  to  the  most  perilous, 
most  adventurous  achieving.  Words  he  had  used 
many  years  ago  in  Jersey  kept  ringing  in  his  ears,  — 
" '  Good-by,  Sir  Philip  '  —  I  '11  be  more  than  that 
some  day." 

The  Assembly  being  opened,  in  a  breathless  silence 
the  Governor-General  of  the  duchy  read  aloud  the 
license  of  the  King  of  England  for  Philip  d'Avranche, 
an  officer  in  his  navy,  to  assume  the  honors  to  be  con- 
ferred upon  him  by  the  Duke  and  the  States  of  Bercy. 
Then,  by  command  of  the  Duke,  the  President  of  the 
States  read  aloud  the  new  order  of  succession  :  — 

"  i.  To  the  Hereditary  Prince  Leopold  John  and 
his  heirs  male ;  in  default  of  which  to 

"2.  The  Prince  successor,  Philip  d'Avranche  and 
his  heirs  male  ;  in  default  of  which  to 

"  3.  The  heir  male  of  the  House  of  Vaufontaine." 

Afterwards  came  reading  of  the  deed  of  gift  by 
which  the  Duke  made  over  to  Prince  Philip  certain 
possessions  in  the  province  of  d'Avranche.  To  all 
this  the  assent  of  Prince  Leopold  John  had  been 
formally  secured. 

After  the  Assembly  and  the  chief  officers  of  the 
duchy  should  have  ratified  these  documents  and  the 
Duke  signed  them,  they  were  to  be  inclosed  in  a  box 
with  three  locks  and  deposited  with  the  Sovereign 


242  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

Court  at  Bercy.  Duplicates  were  also  to  be  sent  to 
London  and  registered  in  the  records  of  the  College 
of  Arms. 

Amid  great  enthusiasm,  the  States,  by  unanimous 
vote,  at  once  ratified  the  documents.  The  one  notable 
dissentient  was  the  Intendant,  Comte  Carignan  Da- 
mour,  the  devout  ally  of  the  French  Government.  It 
was  he  who  had  sent  Fouche  word  concerning  Philip's 
adoption  ;  it  was  also  he  who  had  at  last,  through  his 
spies,  discovered  Detricand's  presence  in  the  town, 
and  had  taken  action  thereupon.  In  the  States,  how- 
ever, he  had  no  vote,  and  wisdom  kept  him  silent, 
though  he  was  watchful  for  any  chance  to  delay  events 
against  the  arrival  of  the  French  envoys. 

They  should  soon  be  here,  and,  during  the  proceed- 
ings in  the  States,  he  watched  the  doors  anxiously. 
Every  minute  that  passed  made  him  more  restless, 
less  hopeful.  He  had  a  double  motive  in  preventing 
this  new  succession.  With  Philip  as  adopted  son  and 
heir  there  would  be  fewer  spoils  of  office  ;  with  Philip 
as  duke  there  would  be  none  at  all,  for  the  instinct  of 
distrust  and  antipathy  was  mutual.  Besides,  as  a  Re- 
publican, he  looked  for  his  reward  from  Fouche  in 
good  time. 

Presently  it  was  announced  by  the  President  that 
the  signatures  to  the  acts  of  the  States  would  be  set 
in  private.  Thereupon,  with  all  the  concourse  stand- 
ing, the  Duke,  surrounded  by  the  law,  military,  and 
civil  officers  of  the  duchy,  girded  upon  Philip  the  jew- 
eled sword  which  had  been  handed  down  in  the  house 
of  d'Avranche  from  generation  to  generation.  The 
open  function  being  thus  ended,  the  people  were  en- 
joined to  proceed  at  once  to  the  cathedral,  where  a 
Te  Deum  would  be  sung. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  243 

The  public  then  retired,  leaving  the  Duke  and  a 
few  of  the  highest  officials  of  the  duchy  to  formally 
sign  and  seal  the  deeds.  When  the  outer  doors  were 
closed,  one  unofficial  person  remained  —  Comte  Detri- 
cand  de  Tournay,  of  the  House  of  Vaufontaine. 
Leaning  against  a  pillar,  he  stood  looking  calmly  at 
the  group  surrounding  the  Duke  at  the  great  council- 
table. 

Suddenly  the  Duke  turned  to  a  door  at  the  right  of 
the  President's  chair,  and,  opening  it,  bowed  courte- 
ously to  some  one  beyond.  An  instant  afterwards 
there  entered  the  Comtesse  Chantavoine,  with  her 
uncle  the  Marquis  Grandjon-Larisse,  an  aged  and 
feeble  but  distinguished  figure.  They  advanced  to- 
wards the  table,  the  lady  on  the  Duke's  arm,  and 
Philip,  saluting  them  gravely,  offered  the  Marquis  a 
chair.  At  first  the  Marquis  declined  it,  but  the  Duke 
pressed  him,  and  in  the  subsequent  proceedings  he  of 
all  the  number  was  seated. 

Detricand  apprehended  the  meaning  of  the  scene. 
This  was  the  lady  whom  the  Duke  had  chosen  as  wife 
for  the  new  Prince.  The  Duke  had  invited  the 
Comtesse  to  witness  the  final  act  which  was  to  make 
Philip  d'Avranche  his  heir  in  legal  fact  as  by  verbal 
proclamation  ;  not  doubting  that  the  romantic  nature 
of  the  incident  would  impress  her.  He  had  even 
hoped  that  the  function  might  be  followed  by  a  formal 
betrothal  in  the  presence  of  the  officials  ;  and  the  situ- 
ation might  still  have  been  critical  for  Philip  had  it 
not  been  for  the  pronounced  reserve  of  the  Comtesse 
herself. 

Tall,  of  gracious  and  stately  carriage,  the  curious 
quietness  of  the  face  of  the  Comtesse  would  have 
been  almost  an  unbecoming  gravity  were  it  not  that 


244  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

the  eyes,  clear,  dark,  and  strong,  lightened  it.  The 
mouth  had  a  somewhat  set  sweetness,  even  as  the  face 
was  somewhat  fixed  in  its  calm.  In  her  bearing,  in 
all  her  motions,  there  was  a  regal  quality  ;  yet,  too, 
something  of  isolation,  of  withdrawal,  in  her  self-pos- 
session and  unruffled  observation.  She  seemed,  to 
Detricand,  a  figure  apart,  a  woman  whose  friendship 
would  be  everlasting,  but  whose  love  would  be  more 
an  affectionate  habit  than  a  passion  ;  and  in  whom 
devotion  would  be  strong  because  devotion  was  the 
keynote  of  her  nature.  The  dress  of  a  nun  would 
have  turned  her  into  a  saint ;  of  a  peasant  would  have 
made  her  a  Madonna ;  of  a  Quaker  would  have  made 
her  a  dreamer  and  a  ctivote  ;  of  a  queen  would  have 
made  her  benign  yet  unapproachable.  It  struck  him 
all  at  once,  as  he  looked,  that  this  woman  had  one 
quality  in  absolute  kinship  with  Guida  Landresse  — 
honesty  of  mind  and  nature  ;  only  with  this  young 
aristocrat  the  honesty  would  be  without  passion. 
She  had  straightforwardness,  a  firm  if  limited  intellect, 
a  clear-mindedness  belonging  somewhat  to  narrowness 
of  outlook,  but  a  genuine  capacity  for  understanding 
the  right  and  the  wrong  of  things.  Guida,  so  Detri- 
cand thought,  might  break  her  heart  and  live  on ;  this 
woman  would  break  her  heart  and  die  :  the  one  would 
grow  larger  through  suffering,  the  other  shrink  to  a 
numb  coldness. 

So  he  entertained  himself  by  these  flashes  of  dis- 
cernment, presently  merged  in  wonderment  as  to  what 
was  in  Philip's  mind  as  he  stood  there,  destiny  hang- 
ing in  that  drop  of  ink  at  the  point  of  the  pen  in  the 
Duke's  fingers  ! 

Philip  was  thinking  of  the  destiny,  but  more  than 
all  else  just  now  he  was  thinking  of  the  woman  before 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  245 

him  and  the  issue  to  be  faced  by  him  regarding  her. 
His  thoughts  were  not  so  clear  nor  so  discerning  as 
Detricand's.  No  more  than  he  understood  Guida  did 
he  understand  this  clear-eyed,  still,  self-possessed 
woman.  He  thought  her  cold,  unsympathetic,  barren 
of  that  glow  which  should  set  the  pulses  of  a  man 
like  himself  bounding.  It  never  occurred  to  him 
that  these  still  waters  ran  deep,  that  to  awaken  this 
seemingly  glacial  nature,  to  kindle  a  fire  on  this  altar, 
would  be  to  secure  unto  his  life's  end  a  steady,  en- 
during flame  of  devotion.  He  revolted  from  her ; 
not  alone  because  he  had  a  wife,  but  because  the 
Comtesse  chilled  him,  because  with  her,  in  any  case, 
he  should  never  be  able  to  play  the  passionate  lover 
as  he  had  done  with  Guida  ;  and  with  Philip  not  to  be 
the  passionate  lover  was  to  be  no  lover  at  all.  One 
thing  only  appealed  to  him  :  she  was  the  Comtesse 
Chantavoine,  a  fitting  consort  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world  for  a  sovereign  Duke.  He  was  more  than  a 
little  carried  off  his  feet  by  the  marvel  of  the  situa- 
tion. He  could  think  of  nothing  quite  clearly ; 
everything  was  confused  and  shifting  in  his  mind. 

The  first  words  of  the  Duke  were  merely  an  informal 
greeting  to  his  council  and  the  high  officers  present. 
He  was  about  to  speak  further  when  some  one  drew 
his  attention  to  Detricand's  presence.  An  order  was 
given  to  challenge  the  stranger,  but  D6tricand,  with- 
out waiting  for  the  approach  of  the  officer,  advanced 
towards  the  table,  and,  addressing  the  Duke,  said :  — 

"  The  Due  de  Bercy  will  not  forbid  the  presence  of 
his  cousin,  Detricand  de  Tournay,  at  this  impressive 
ceremony  ? " 

The  Duke,  dumfounded,  though  he  preserved  an 
outward  calm,  could  not  answer  for  an  instant.  Then, 


246     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

with  a  triumphant,  vindictive  smile  which  puckered 
his  yellow  cheeks  like  a  wild  apple,  he  said  :  — 

"  The  Comte  de  Tournay  is  welcome  to  behold  an 
end  of  the  ambitions  of  the  Vaufontaines."  He  looked 
towards  Philip  with  an  exulting  pride.  "  Monsieur  le 
Comte  is  quite  right,"  he  added,  turning  to  his  council, 
—  "  he  may  always  claim  the  privileges  of  a  relative 
of  the  Bercys;  but  the  hospitality  goes  not  beyond 
my  house  and  my  presence,  and  Monsieur  le  Comte 
will  understand  my  meaning  !  " 

At  that  moment  Detricand  caught  the  eye  of 
Damour,  the  Intendant,  and  he  understood  perfectly. 
This  man,  the  innkeeper  had  told  him,  was  known  to 
be  a  Revolutionary,  and  he  felt  he  was  in  imminent 
danger.  He  came  nearer,  however,  bowing  to  all 
present,  and,  making  no  reply  to  the  Duke  save  a 
simple,  "  I  thank  your  Highness,"  took  a  place  near 
the  council  table. 

The  short  ceremony  of  signing  the  deeds  immedi- 
ately followed.  A  few  formal  questions  were  asked 
of  Philip,  to  which  he  briefly  replied,  and  afterwards 
he  made  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  the  Duke,  with  his 
hand  upon  the  ancient  sword  of  the  d'Avranches. 
These  preliminaries  ended,  the  Duke  was  just  stoop- 
ing to  put  his  pen  to  the  paper  for  signature,  when 
the  Intendant,  as  much  to  annoy  Philip  as  still  to 
stay  the  proceedings  against  the  coming  of  Fouch^'s 
men,  said :  — 

"  It  would  appear  that  one  question  has  been  omitted 
in  the  formalities  of  this  Court."  He  paused  dramati- 
cally. He  was  only  aiming  a  random  shot ;  he  would 
make  the  most  of  it. 

The  Duke  looked  up  perturbed,  and  said  sharply, 
"What  is  that  —  what  is  that,  monsieur?  " 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  247 

"  A  form,  Monsieur  le  Due,  a  mere  form.  Mon- 
sieur,"—  he  bowed  towards  Philip  politely,  —  "mon- 
sieur is  not  already  married?  There  is  no" —  He 
paused  again. 

For  an  instant  there  was  absolute  stillness.  Philip 
had  felt  his  heart  give  one  great  thump  of  terror  — 
Did  the  Intendant  know  anything  ?  Did  Dttricand 
know  anything?" 

Standing  rigid  for  a  moment,  his  pen  poised,  the 
Duke  looked  sharply  at  the  Intendant,  and  then  still 
more  sharply  at  Philip.  The  progress  of  that  look 
had  granted  Philip  an  instant's  time  to  recover  his 
composure.  He  was  conscious  that  the  Comtesse 
Chantavoine  had  given  a  little  start,  and  then  had 
become  quite  still  and  calm.  Now  her  eyes  were 
intently  fixed  upon  him. 

He  had,  however,  been  too  often  in  physical  danger 
to  lose  his  nerve  at  this  moment.  The  instant  was 
big  with  peril  ;  it  was  the  turning  point  of  his  life, 
and  he  felt  it.  His  eyes  dropped  towards  the  spot  of 
ink  at  the  point  of  the  pen  the  Duke  held.  It  fasci- 
nated him  ;  it  was  destiny. 

He  took  a  step  nearer  to  the  table,  and,  drawing 
himself  up,  looked  his  princely  interlocutor  steadily  in 
the  eyes. 

"  Of  course  there  is  no  marriage,  —  no  woman  ?  " 
asked  the  Duke  a  little  hoarsely,  his  eyes  fastened  on 
Philip's. 

With  steady  voice  Philip  replied  :  "  Of  course,  Mon- 
sieur le  Due." 

There  was  another  stillness.  Some  one  sighed 
heavily.  It  was  the  Comtesse  Chantavoine. 

The  next  instant  the  Duke  stooped,  and  wrote  his 
signature  three  times  hurriedly  upon  the  deeds. 


248     THE   BATTLE    OF   THE    STRONG 

A  moment  afterwards,  Detricand  was  in  the  street, 
making  towards  "  The  Golden  Crown."  As  he  hur- 
ried on  he  heard  the  galloping  of  horses  ahead  of  him. 
Suddenly  some  one  plucked  him  by  the  arm  from  a 
doorway. 

"Quick  —  within!"  said  a  voice.  It  was  that  of 
the  Duke's  porter,  Frange  Pergot.  Without  hesita- 
tion or  a  word,  Detricand  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  the 
door  clanged  to  behind  him. 

"  Fouche's  men  are  coming  down  the  street ;  spies 
have  betrayed  you,"  whispered  Pergot.  "  Follow  me. 
I  will  hide  you  till  night,  and  then  you  must  away." 

Pergot  had  spoken  the  truth.  But  Detricand  was 
safely  hidden,  and  Fouche's  men  came  too  late  to 
capture  the  Vendeen  chief,  or  to  forbid  those  formal 
acts  which  made  Philip  d'Avranche  a  prince. 

Once  again  at  Saumur,  a  week  later,  Detricand 
wrote  a  long  letter  to  Carterette  Mattingley,  in  Jersey, 
in  which  he  set  forth  these  strange  events  at  Bercy, 
and  asked  certain  questions  concerning  Guida. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

SINCE  the  day  of  his  secret  marriage  with  Guida, 
Philip  had  been  carried  along  in  the  gale  of 
naval  preparation  and  incidents  of  war  as  a  leaf  is 
borne  onward  by  a  storm  —  no  looking  back,  to-mor- 
row always  the  goal.  But  as  a  wounded  traveler 
nursing  carefully  his  hurt  seeks  shelter  from  the 
scorching  sun  and  the  dank  air,  and  travels  by  little 
stages  lest  he  never  come  at  all  to  friendly  hostel,  so 
Guida  made  her  way  slowly  through  the  months  of 
winter  and  of  spring. 

In  the  past,  it  had  been  February  to  Guida  be- 
cause the  yellow  Lenten  lilies  grew  on  all  the  shel- 
tered cdtils  ;  March  because  the  periwinkle  and  the 
lords-and-ladies  came ;  May  when  the  cliffs  were  a 
blaze  of  golden  gorse  and  the  perfume  thereof  made 
all  the  land  sweet  as  a  honeycomb. 

Then  came  the  other  months,  with  hawthorn  trees 
and  hedges  all  in  blow ;  the  honeysuckle  gladdening 
the  doorways,  the  lilac  in  bloomy  thickets ;  the  ox- 
eyed  daisy  of  Whitsuntide ;  the  yellow  rose  of  St. 
Brelade  that  lies  down  in  the  sand  and  stands  up  in 
the  hedges  ;  the  "  mergots  "  which,  like  good  soldiers, 
are  first  in  the  field  and  last  out  of  it ;  the  unscented 
dog-violets,  orchises  and  celandines  ;  the  osier  beds,  the 
ivy  on  every  barn  ;  the  purple  thrift  in  masses  on  the 
cliff  ;  the  sea-thistle  in  its  glaucous  green  — "  the 
laughter  of  the  fields  whose  laugh  was  gold."  And 
all  was  summer. 


250  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

Came  a  time  thereafter,  when  the  children  of  the 
poor  gathered  blackberries  for  preserves  and  home- 
made wine;  when  the  wild  stock  flowered  in  St. 
Ouen's  Bay  ;  when  the  bracken  fern  was  gathered 
from  every  cotil,  and  dried  for  apple-storing,  for  bed- 
ding for  the  cherished  cow,  for  back-rests  for  the 
veilles,  and  seats  round  the  winter  fire ;  when  peaches, 
apricots,  and  nectarines  made  the  walls  sumptuous  red 
and  gold ;  when  the  wild  plum  and  crab-apple  flour- 
ished in  secluded  roadways,  and  the  tamarisk  dropped 
its  brown  pods  upon  the  earth.  And  all  this  was 
autumn. 

At  last,  when  the  birds  of  passage  swept  aloft,  snipe 
and  teal  and  barnacle  geese,  and  the  rains  began  ; 
when  the  green  lizard  with  its  turquoise-blue  throat 
vanished ;  when  the  Jersey  crapaud  was  heard  croak- 
ing no  longer  in  the  valleys  and  the  ponds ;  and  the 
cows  were  well  blanketed  —  then  winter  had  come 
again ! 

Such  was  the  association  of  seasons  in  Guida's  mind 
until  one  day  of  a  certain  year,  when  for  a  few  hours 
a  man  had  called  her  his  wife,  and  then  had  sailed 
away.  There  was  no  log  that  might  thereafter  record 
the  days  and  weeks  unwinding  the  coils  of  an  endless 
chain  into  that  sea  whither  Philip  had  gone. 

Letters  she  had  had,  two  letters,  one  in  January,  one 
in  March.  How  many  times,  when  a  Channel-packet 
came  in,  did  she  go  to  the  doorway  and  watch  for 
old  Mere  Rossignol,  making  the  rounds  with  her  han 
basket,  chanting  the  names  of  those  for  whom  she 
had  letters  ;  and  how  many  times  did  she  go  back  to 
the  kitchen,  choking  down  a  sob ! 

The  first  letter  from  Philip  was  at  once  a  blessing 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     251 

and  a  blow ;  it  was  a  reassurance  and  it  was  a  misery. 
It  spoke  of  bread,  as  it  were,  yet  offered  a  stone.  It 
eloquently,  passionately  told  of  his  love ;  but  it  also 
told,  with  a  torturing  ease,  that  the  Araminta  was 
commissioned  with  sealed  orders,  and  he  did  not  know 
when  he  should  see  her  nor  when  he  should  be  able 
to  write  again.  War  had  been  declared  against  France, 
and  they  might  not  touch  a  port  nor  have  chance  to 
send  a  letter  by  a  homeward  vessel  for  weeks,  and 
maybe  months.  This  was  painful,  of  course,  but  it 
was  fate,  it  was  his  profession,  and  it  could  not  be 
helped.  Of  course  —  she  must  understand  —  he  would 
write  constantly,  telling  her,  as  through  a  kind  of 
diary,  what  he  was  doing  every  day,  and  then  when 
the  chance  came  the  big  budget  should  go  to  her. 

A  pain  came  to  Guida's  heart  as  she  read  the  flow- 
ing tale  of  his  buoyant  love.  Had  she  been  the  man 
and  he  the  woman,  she  could  never  have  written  so 
smoothly  of  "fate,"  and  "profession,"  nor  told  of  this 
separation  with  so  complaisant  a  sorrow.  With  her 
the  words  would  have  been  wrenched  forth  from  her 
heart,  scarred  into  the  paper  with  the  bitterness  of  a 
spirit  tried  beyond  enduring. 

With  what  enthusiasm  did  Philip,  immediately  after 
his  heart-breaking  news,  write  of  what  the  war  might 
do  for  him ;  what  avenues  of  advancement  it  might 
open  up,  what  splendid  chances  it  would  offer  for  suc- 
cess in  his  career  !  Did  he  mean  that  to  comfort  her  ? 
she  asked  herself.  Did  he  mean  it  to  divert  her  from 
the  pain  of  the  separation,  to  give  her  something  to 
hope  for  ?  She  read  the  letter  over  and  over  again, 
no  —  yet,  she  could  not,  though  her  heart  was  so  will- 
ing, find  that  meaning  in  it.  It  was  all  Philip,  Philip 
full  of  hope,  purpose,  prowess,  ambition.  Did  he  think 


252  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

—  did  he  think  that  that  could  ease  the  pain,  could 
lighten  the  dark  day  settling  down  on  her  ?  Could 
he  imagine  that  anything  might  compensate  for  his 
absence  in  the  coming  months,  in  this  year  of  all  years 
in  her  life  ?  His  lengthened  absence  might  be  inevi- 
table, it  might  be  fate,  but  could  he  not  see  the  bitter 
cruelty  of  it  ?  He  had  said  that  he  would  be  back 
with  her  again  in  two  months  ;  and  now  —  ah,  did  he 
not  know  ! 

As  the  weeks  came  and  went  again  she  felt  that 
indeed  he  did  not  know. 

Some  natures  cling  to  beliefs  long  after  conviction 
has  been  shattered.  These  are  they  of  the  limited 
imagination,  the  loyal,  the  pertinacious,  and  the  affec- 
tionate, the  single-hearted  children  of  habit ;  blind 
where  they  do  not  wish  to  see,  stubborn  where  their 
inclinations  lie,  unamenable  to  reason,  wholly  held  by 
legitimate  obligations. 

But  Guida  was  not  of  these.  Her  brain  and  im- 
agination were  strong  as  her  affections.  Her  incura- 
ble honesty  was  the  deepest  thing  in  her ;  she  did  not 
know  even  how  to  deceive  herself.  As  her  experience 
deepened  under  the  influence  of  a  sorrow  which  still 
was  joy,  and  a  joy  that  still  was  sorrow,  her  vision 
became  acute  and  piercing.  Her  mind  was  like  some 
kaleidoscope.  Pictures  of  things,  little  and  big,  which 
had  happened  to  her  in  her  life,  flashed  by  her  inner 
vision  in  furious  procession.  It  was  as  if,  in  the  pho- 
tographic machinery  of  the  brain,  some  shutter  had 
slipped  from  its  place,  and  a  hundred  orderless  and 
ungoverned  pictures,  loosed  from  natural  restraint, 
rushed  by. 

Five  months  had  gone  since  Philip  had  left  her: 
two  months  since  she  had  received  his  second  letter, 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  253 

months  of  complexity  of  feeling  ;  of  tremulousness  of 
discovery  ;  of  hungry  eagerness  for  news  of  the  war ; 
of  sudden  little  outbursts  of  temper  in  her  household 
life  —  a  new  thing  in  her  experience ;  of  passionate 
"touches  of  tenderness  towards  her  grandfather;  of 
occasional  biting  comments  in  the  conversations  be- 
tween the  Sieur  and  the  Chevalier,  causing  both  gen- 
tlemen to  look  at  each  other  in  silent  amaze  ;  of  as 
marked  lapses  into  listless  disregard  of  any  talk  going 
on  around  her. 

She  had  been  used  often  to  sit  still,  doing  nothing, 
in  a  sort  of  physical  content,  as  the  Sieur  and  his  visi- 
tors talked ;  now  her  hands  were  always  busy,  knit- 
ting, sewing,  or  spinning,  the  steady  gaze  upon  the 
work  showing  that  her  thoughts  were  far  away. 
Though  the  Chevalier  and  her  grandfather  vaguely 
noted  these  changes,  they  as  vaguely  set  them  down 
to  her  growing  womanhood.  In  any  case,  they  held 
it  was  not  for  them  to  comment  upon  a  woman  or 
upon  a  woman's  ways.  And  a  girl  like  Guida  was  an 
incomprehensible  being,  with  an  orbit  and  a  system 
all  her  own ;  whose  sayings  and  doings  were  as  little 
to  be  reduced  to  their  understanding  as  the  vagaries 
of  any  star  in  the  Milky  Way  or  the  currents  in  St. 
Michael's  Basin. 

One  evening  she  sat  before  the  fire  thinking  of 
Philip.  Her  grandfather  had  retired  earlier  than  usual. 
Biribi  lay  asleep  on  the  veille.  There  was  no  sound 
save  the  ticking  of  the  clock  on  the  mantel  above  her 
head,  the  dog's  slow  breathing,  the  snapping  of  the 
log  on  the  fire,  and  a  soft  rush  of  heat  up  the  chim- 
ney. The  words  of  Philip's  letters,  from  which  she 
had  extracted  every  atom  of  tenderness  they  held, 
were  always  in  her  ears.  At  last  one  phrase  kept 


254     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

repeating  itself  to  her  like  some  plaintive  refrain, 
torturing  in  its  mournful  suggestion.  It  was  this  : 
"  But  you  see,  dearest,  though  I  am  absent  from  you 
I  shall  have  such  splendid  chances  to  get  on.  There  's 
no  limit  to  what  this  war  may  do  for  me." 

Suddenly  Guida  realized  how  different  was  her  love 
from  Philip's,  how  different  her  place  in  his  life  from 
his  place  in  her  life.  She  reasoned  with  herself, 'be- 
cause she  knew  that  a  man's  life  was  work  in  the 
world,  and  that  work  and  ambition  were  in  his  bones 
and  in  his  blood,  had  been  carried  down  to  him 
through  centuries  of  industrious,  ambitious  genera- 
tions of  men :  that  men  were  one  race  and  women 
were  another.  A  man  was  bound  by  the  conditions 
governing  the  profession  by  which  he  earned  his  bread 
and  butter  and  played  his  part  in  the  world,  while 
striving  to  reach  the  seats  of  honor  in  high  places. 
He  must  either  live  by  the  law,  fulfill  to  the  letter  his 
daily  duties  in  .the  business  of  life,  or  drop  out  of  the 
race ;  while  a  woman,  in  the  presence  of  man's  im- 
moderate ambition,  with  bitterness  and  tears,  must 
learn  to  pray  :  "  O  Lord,  have  mercy  upon  us,  and  in- 
cline our  hearts  to  keep  this  law. " 

Suddenly  the  whole  thing  resolved  itself  in  Guida's 
mind,  and  her  thinking  came  to  a  full  stop.  She 
understood  now  what  was  the  right  and  what  the 
wrong  ;  and,  'child  as  she  was  in  years,  woman  in 
thought  and  experience,  yielding  to  the  impulse  of 
the  moment,  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and 
burst  into  tears. 

"  O  Philip,  Philip,  Philip  !  "  she  sobbed  aloud,  "  it 
was  not  right  of  you  to  marry  me ;  it  was  wicked  of 
you  to  leave  me."  Then  in  her  mind  she  carried  on 
the  impeachment  and  reproach.  If  he  had  married 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  255 

her  openly  and  left  her  at  once,  it  would  have  been 
hard  to  bear,  but  in  the  circumstances  it  might  have 
been  right.  If  he  had  married  her  secretly  and  left 
her  at  the  altar,  so  keeping  the  vow  he  had  made  her 
when  she  promised  to  become  his  wife,  that  might 
have  been  pardonable.  But  to  marry  her,  as  he  did, 
and  then,  breaking  his  solemn  pledge,  leave  her  —  it 
was  not  right  in  her  eyes  ;  and  if  not  right  in  the  eyes 
of  her  who  loved  him,  in  whose  would  it  be  right  ? 

To  these  definitions  she  had  come  at  last. 

It  is  an  eventful  moment,  a  crucial  ordeal  for  a 
woman,  when  she  forces  herself  to  see  the  naked 
truth  concerning  the  man  she  has  loved,  yet  the  man 
who  has  wronged  her.  She  is  born  anew  in  that 
moment  :  it  may  be  to  love  on,  to  blind  herself,  and 
condone  and  defend,  so  lowering  her  own  moral  tone ; 
or  to  congeal  in  heart,  become  keener  in  intellect, 
scornful  and  bitter  with  her  own  sex  and  merciless 
towards  the  other,  indifferent  to  blame  and  careless 
of  praise,  intolerant,  judging  all  the  world  by  her  own 
experience,  incredulous  of  any  true  thing.  Or  again 
she  may  become  stronger,  sadder,  wiser ;  condoning 
nothing,  minimizing  nothing,  deceiving  herself  in  no- 
thing, and  still  never  forgiving  at  least  one  thing  — 
the  destruction  of  an  innocent  faith  and  a  noble  cre- 
dulity ;  seeing  clearly  the  whole  wrong  ;  with  a  strong 
intelligence  measuring  perfectly  the  iniquity ;  but  out 
of  a  largeness  of  nature  and  by  virtue  of  a  high  sense 
of  duty,  devoting  her  days  to  the  salvation  of  a  man's 
honor,  to  the  betterment  of  one  weak  or  wicked 
nature. 

Of  these  last  would  have  been  Guida. 

"  O  Philip,  Philip,  you  have  been  wicked  to  me !  " 
she  sobbed. 


256  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

Her  tears  fell  upon  the  stone  hearth,  and  the  fire 
dried  them.  Every  teardrop  was  one  girlish  feeling 
and  emotion  gone,  one  bright  fancy,  one  tender  hope 
vanished.  She  was  no  longer  a  girl.  There  were 
troubles  and  dangers  ahead  of  her,  but  she  must  now 
face  them  dry-eyed  and  alone. 

In  his  second  letter  Philip  had  told  her  to  announce 
the  marriage,  and  said  that  he  would  write  to  her 
grandfather  explaining  all,  and  also  to  the  Reverend 
Lorenzo  Dow.  She  had  waited  and  watched  for  that 
letter  to  her  grandfather,  but  it  had  not  come.  As 
for  Mr.  Dow,  he  was  a  prisoner  with  the  French  ;  and 
he  had  never  given  her  the  marriage  certificate. 

There  was  yet  another  factor  in  the  affair.  While 
the  Island  was  agog  over  Mr.  Dow's  misfortune, 
there  had  been  a  bold  robbery  at  St.  Michael's  Rec- 
tory of  the  strong-box  containing  the  communion 
plate,  the  parish  taxes  for  the  year,  and  —  what  was 
of  great  moment  to  at  least  one  person  —  the  parish 
register  of  deaths,  baptisms,  and  marriages.  Thus  it 
was  that  now  no  human  being  in  Jersey  could  vouch 
that  Guida  had  been  married. 

Yet  these  things  troubled  her  little.  How  easily 
could  Philip  set  all  right !  If  he  would  but  come 
back  —  that  at  first  was  her  only  thought ;  for  what 
matter  a  ring,  or  any  proof  or  proclamation  without 
Philip ! 

It  did  not  occur  to  her  at  first  that  all  these  things 
were  needed  to  save  her  from  shame  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world.  If  she  had  thought  of  them  apprehen- 
sively, she  would  have  said  to  herself,  How  easy  to 
set  all  right  by  simply  announcing  the  marriage ! 
And  indeed  she  would  have  done  so  when  war  was 
declared  and  Philip  received  his  new  command,  but 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  257 

that  she  had  wished  the  announcement  to  come  from 
him.  Well,  that  would  come  in  any  case  when  his 
letter  to  her  grandfather  arrived.  No  doubt  it  had 
missed  the  packet  by  which  hers  came,  she  thought. 

But  another  packet  and  yet  another  arrived ;  and 
still  there  was  no  letter  from  Philip  for  the  Sieur  de 
Mauprat.  Winter  had  come,  and  spring  had  gone, 
and  now  summer  was  at  hand.  Haymaking  was 
beginning,  the  wild  strawberries  were  reddening 
among  the  clover,  and  in  her  garden,  apples  had  fol- 
lowed the  buds  on  the  trees  beneath  which  Philip  had 
told  his  fateful  tale  of  love. 

At  last  a  third  letter  arrived,  but  it  brought  little 
joy  to  her  heart.  It  was  extravagant  in  terms  of 
affection,  but  somehow  it  fell  short  of  the  true  thing, 
for  its  ardor  was  that  of  a  mind  preoccupied,  and 
underneath  all  ran  a  current  of  inherent  selfishness. 
It  delighted  in  the  activity  of  his  life,  it  was  full  of 
hope,  of  promise  of  happiness  for  them  both  in  the 
future,  but  it  had  no  solicitude  for  Guida  in  the  pre- 
sent. It  chilled  her  heart  —  so  warm  but  a  short 
season  ago  —  that  Philip,  to  whom  she  had  once 
ascribed  strength,  tenderness,  profound  thoughtful- 
ness,  should  concern  himself  so  little  in  the  details  of 
her  life.  For  the  most  part,  his  letters  seemed  those 
of  an  ardent  lover  who  knew  his  duty  and  did  it 
gladly,  but  with  a  self-conscious  and  flowing  eloquence, 
costing  but  small  strain  of  feeling. 

In  this  letter  he  was  curious  to  know  what  the  peo- 
ple in  Jersey  said  about  their  marriage.  He  had 
written  to  Lorenzo  Dow  and  her  grandfather,  he  said, 
but  had  heard  afterwards  that  the  vessel  carrying  the 
letters  had  been  taken  by  a  French  privateer ;  and  so 
they  had  not  arrived  in  Jersey.  But  of  course  she 


258  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

had  told  her  grandfather  and  all  the  Island  of  the 
ceremony  performed  at  St.  Michael's.  He  was  send- 
ing her  fifty  pounds,  his  first  contribution  to  their 
home ;  and,  the  war  over,  a  pretty  new  home  she  cer- 
tainly should  have.  He  would  write  to  her  grand- 
father again,  though  this  day  there  was  no  time  to 
do  so. 

Guida  realized  now  that  she  must  announce  the 
marriage  at  once.  But  what  proofs  of  it  had  she  ? 
There  was  the  ring  Philip  had  given  her,  inscribed 
with  their  names ;  but  she  was  sophisticated  enough 
to  know  that  this  would  not  be  adequate  evidence  in 
the  eyes  of  her  Jersey  neighbors.  The  marriage 
register  of  St.  Michael's,  with  its  record,  was  stolen, 
and  that  proof  was  gone.  Lastly,  there  were  Philip's 
letters  ;  but  no  —  a  thousand  times  no  !  —  she  would 
not  show  Philip's  letters  to  any  human  being ;  even 
the  thought  of  it  hurt  her  delicacy,  her  self-respect. 
Her  heart  burned  with  fresh  bitterness  to  think  that 
there  had  been  a  secret  marriage.  How  hard  it  was 
at  this  distance  of  time  to  tell  the  world  the  tale,  and 
to  be  forced  to  prove  it  by  Philip's  letters.  No,  no,  in 
spite  of  all,  she  could  not  do  it  —  not  yet.  She  would 
still  wait  the  arrival  of  his  letter  to  her  grandfather. 
If  it  did  not  come  soon,  then  she  must  be  brave  and 
tell  her  story. 

She  went  to  the  Vier  Marchi  less  now.  Also  fewer 
folk  stood  gossiping  with  her  grandfather  in  the  Place 
du  Vier  Prison,  or  by  the  well  at  the  front  door  —  so 
far  she  had  not  wondered  why.  To  be  sure,  Maitresse 
Aimable  came  oftener ;  but,  since  that  notable  day  at 
Sark,  Guida  had  resolutely  avoided  reference,  how- 
ever oblique,  to  Philip  and  herself.  In  her  dark  days 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     259 

the  one  tenderly  watchful  eye  upon  her  was  that  of 
the  egregiously  fat  old  woman  called  the  "  Femme  de 
Ballast,"  whose  thick  tongue  clave  to  the  roof  of  her 
mouth,  whose  outer  attractions  were  so  meagre  that 
even  her  husband's  chief  sign  of  affection  was  to  pull 
her  great  toe,  passing  her  bed  of  a  morning  to  light 
the  fire. 

Carterette  Mattingley  also  came,  but  another  friend 
who  had  watched  over  Guida  for  years  before  Philip 
appeared  in  the  Place  du  Vier  Prison  never  entered 
her  doorway  now.  Only  once  or  twice  since  that  day 
on  the  Ecrehos,  so  fateful  to  them  both,  had  Guida 
seen  Ranulph.  He  had  withdrawn  to  St.  Aubin's 
Bay,  where  his  trade  of  shipbuilding  was  carried  on, 
and,  having  fitted  up  a  small  cottage,  lived  a  secluded 
life  with  his  father  there.  Neither  of  them  appeared 
often  in  St.  Heliers,  and  they  were  seldom  or  never 
seen  in  the  Vier  Marchi. 

Carterette  saw  Ranulph  little  oftener  than  did 
Guida,  but  she  knew  what  he  was  doing,  being  anx- 
ious to  know,  and  every  one's  business  being  every 
one  else's  business  in  Jersey.  In  the  same  way 
Ranulph  knew  of  Guida.  What  Carterette  was  doing 
Ranulph  was  not  concerned  to  know,  and  so  knew 
little ;  and  Guida  knew  and  thought  little  of  how 
Ranulph  fared  :  which  was  part  of  the  selfishness  of 
Jove. 

But  one  day  Carterette  received  a  letter  from  France 
which  excited  her  greatly,  and  sent  her  off  hot-foot  to 
Guida.  In  the  same  hour  Ranulph  heard  a  piece  of 
hateful  gossip  which  made  him  fell  to  the  ground  the 
man  who  told  him,  and  sent  him  with  white  face,  and 
sick,  yet  indignant  heart,  to  the  cottage  in  the  Place 
du  Vier  Prison. 


CHAPTER    XXV 

GUIDA  was  sitting  on  the  veille  reading  an  old 
London  paper  she  had  bought  of  the  mate  of 
the  packet  from  Southampton.  One  page  contained 
an  account  of  the  execution  of  Louis  XVI.  ;  another 
reported  the  fight  between  the  English  thirty-six  gun 
frigate  Araminta  and  the  French  Niobe.  The  en- 
gagement had  been  desperate,  the  valiant  Araminta 
having  been  fought,  not  alone  against  odds  as  to  her 
enemy,  but  against  the  irresistible  perils  of  a  coast 
upon  which  the  Admiralty  charts  gave  cruelly  imper- 
fect information.  To  the  Admiralty  we  owed  the  fact, 
the  journal  urged,  that  the  Araminta  was  now  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sea,  and  its  young  commander  confined 
in  a  French  fortress,  his  brave  and  distinguished  ser- 
vices lost  to  the  country.  Nor  had  the  Government 
yet  sought  to  lessen  the  injury  by  arranging  a  cartel 
for  the  release  of  the  unfortunate  commander. 

The  Araminta !  To  Guida  the  letters  of  the  word 
seemed  to  stand  out  from  the  paper  like  shining  hiero- 
glyphs on  a  misty  gray  curtain.  The  rest  of  the  page 
was  resolved  into  a  filmy  floating  substance,  no  more 
tangible  than  the  ashy  skeleton  on  which  writing  still 
lives  when  the  paper  itself  has  been  eaten  by  flame, 
and  the  flame  swallowed  by  the  air. 

Araminta  —  this  was  all  her  eyes  saw,  that  familiar 
name  in  the  flaring  handwriting  of  the  Genius  of  Life, 
who  had  scrawled  her  destiny  in  that  one  word. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     261 

Slowly  the  monstrous  ciphers  faded  from  the  gray 
hemisphere  of  space,  and  she  saw  again  the  newspaper 
in  her  trembling  fingers,  the  kitchen  into  which  the 
sunlight  streamed  from  the  open  window,  the  dog 
Biribi  basking  in  the  doorway.  That  living  quiet 
which  descends  upon  a  house  when  the  midday  meal 
and  work  are  done  came  suddenly  home  to  her,  in 
contrast  to  the  turmoil  in  her  mind  and  being. 

So  that  was  why  Philip  had  not  written  to  her ! 
While  her  heart  was  daily  growing  more  bitter  against 
him,  he  had  been  fighting  his  vessel  against  great 
odds,  and  at  last  had  been  shipwrecked  and  carried 
off  a  prisoner.  A  strange  new  understanding  took 
possession  of  her.  Her  life  suddenly  widened.  She 
realized  all  at  once  how  the  eyes  of  the  whole  world 
might  be  fixed  upon  a  single  ship,  a  few  cannon,  and 
some  scores  of  men.  The  general  of  a  great  army 
leading  tens  of  thousands  into  the  clash  of  battle  — 
that  had  been  always  within  her  comprehension ;  but 
this  was  almost  miraculous,  this  sudden  projection  of 
one  ship  and  her  commander  upon  the  canvas  of  fame. 
Philip  had  left  her,  unknown  save  to  a  few.  With 
the  nations  turned  to  see,  he  had  made  a  gallant  and 
splendid  fight,  and  now  he  was  a  prisoner  in  a  French 
fortress  ! 

This  then  was  why  her  grandfather  had  received  no 
letter  from  him  concerning  the  marriage.  Well,  now 
she  must  speak  for  herself ;  she  must  announce  it. 
Must  she  show  Philip's  letters  ?  —  No,  no,  she  could 
not.  .  .  .  Suddenly  a  new  suggestion  came  to  her  : 
there  was  one  remaining  proof  of  her  marriage.  Since 
no  banns  had  been  published,  Philip  must  have  ob- 
tained a  license  from  the  Dean  of  the  Island,  and  he 
would  have  a  record  of  it.  All  she  had  to  do  now 


262     THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG 

was  to  get  a  copy  of  this  record  —  but  no,  a  license  to 
marry  was  no  proof  of  marriage ;  it  was  but  evidence 
of  intention. 

Still,  she  would  go  to  the  Dean  this  very  moment. 
It  was  not  right  that  she  should  wait  longer  ;  indeed, 
in  waiting  so  long  she  had  already  done  great  wrong 
to  herself  —  and  to  Philip  perhaps. 

She  rose  from  the  veille  with  a  sense  of  relief.  No 
more  of  this  secrecy,  making  her  innocence  seem 
guilt  ;  no  more  painful  dreams  of  punishment  for 
some  intangible  crime ;  no  starting  if  she  heard  a 
sudden  footstep ;  no  more  hurried  walk  through  the 
streets,  looking  neither  to  right  nor  to  left ;  no  more 
inward  struggles  wearing  away  her  life. 

To-morrow  —  to-morrow  —  no,  this  very  night,  her 
grandfather  and  one  other,  even  Maitresse  Aimable, 
should  know  all ;  and  she  should  sleep  quietly,  —  oh, 
so  quietly  to-night ! 

Looking  into  a  mirror  on  the  wall  —  it  had  been  a 
gift  from  her  grandfather  —  she  smiled  at  herself. 
Why,  how  foolish  of  her  it  had  been  to  feel  so  much 
and  to  imagine  terrible  things  !  Her  eyes  were  shin- 
ing now,  and  her  hair,  catching  the  sunshine  from  the 
window,  glistened  like  burnished  copper.  She  turned 
to  see  how  it  shone  on  the  temple  and  the  side  of  her 
head.  Philip  had  praised  her  hair.  Her  look  lingered 
for  a  moment  placidly  on  herself  —  then  she  started 
suddenly.  A  wave  of  feeling,  a  shiver,  passed  through 
her,  her  brow  gathered,  she  flushed  deeply. 

Turning  away  from  the  mirror,  she  went  and  sat 
down  again  on  the  edge  of  the  veille.  Her  mind  had 
changed.  She  would  go  to  the  Dean's,  but  not  till 
it  was  dark.  She  suddenly  thought  it  strange  that 
the  Dean  had  never  said  anything  about  the  license. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  263 

Why,  again,  perhaps  he  had  !  How  should  she  know 
what  gossip  was  going  on  in  the  town  !  But  no,  she 
w,as  quick  to  feel,  and  if  there  had  been  gossip  she 
would  have  felt  it  in  the  manner  of  her  neighbors. 
Besides,  gossip  as  to  a  license  to  marry  was  all  on  the 
right  side.  She  sighed  —  she  had  sighed  so  often 
of  late  —  to  think  what  a  tangle  it  all  was,  of  how  it 
would  be  smoothed  out  to-morrow,  of  what  — 

There  was  a  click  of  the  garden-gate,  a  footstep  on 
the  walk,  a  half-growl  from  Biribi,  and  the  face  of 
Carterette  Mattingley  appeared  in  the  kitchen  door- 
way. Seeing  Guida  seated  on  the  veille,  she  came  in 
quickly,  her  dancing  dark  eyes  heralding  great  news. 

"  Don't  get  up,  ma  couzaine,"  she  said,  "  please  no. 
Sit  just  there,  and  I  '11  sit  beside  you.  Ah,  but  I 
have  the  most  wonderfuls  !  " 

Carterette  was  out  of  breath.  She  had  hurried  here 
from  her  home.  As  she  said  herself,  her  two  feet 
were  n't  in  one  shoe  on  the  way,  and  that  with  her 
news  made  her  quiver  with  excitement. 

At  first,  bursting  with  mystery,  she  could  no  more 
than  sit  and  look  in  Guida's  face.  Carterette  was 
quick  of  instinct  in  her  way,  but  yet  she  had  not  seen 
any  marked  change  in  her  friend  during  the  past  few 
months.  She  had  been  so  busy  thinking  of  her  own 
particular  secret  that  she  was  not  observant  of  others. 
At  times  she  met  Ranulph,  and  then  she  was  uplifted, 
to  be  at  once  cast  down  again  ;  for  she  saw  that  his 
old  cheerfulness  was  gone,  that  a  sombreness  had  set- 
tled on  him.  She  flattered  herself,  however,  that  she 
could  lighten  his  gravity  if  she  had  the  right  and  the 
good  opportunity  ;  the  more  so  that  he  no  longer  vis- 
ited the  cottage  in  the  Place  du  Vier  Prison. 

This  drew  her  closer  to  Guida  also,  for,  in  truth, 


264  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

Carterette  had  no  loftiness  of  nature.  Like  most 
people,  she  was  selfish  enough  to  hold  a  person  a 
little  dearer  for  not  standing  in  her  own  especial  light. 
Long  ago  she  had  shrewdly  guessed  that  Guida's  in- 
terest lay  elsewhere  than  with  Ranulph,  and  a  few 
months  back  she  had  fastened  upon  Philip  as  the 
object  of  her  favor.  That  seemed  no  weighty 
matter,  for  many  sailors  had  made  love  to  Carterette 
in  her  time,  and  knowing  it  was  here  to-day  and  away 
to-morrow  with  them,  her  heart  had  remained  un- 
touched. Why,  then,  should  she  think  Guida  would 
take  the  officer  seriously  where  she  herself  held  the 
sailor  lightly  ?  But  at  the  same  time  she  felt  sure 
that  what  concerned  Philip  must  interest  Guida, — 
she  herself  always  cared  to  hear  the  fate  of  an  old  ad- 
mirer, —  and  this  was  what  had  brought  her  to  the 
cottage  to-day. 

"  Guess  who 's  wrote  me  a  letter ! "  she  asked  of 
Guida,  who  had  taken  up  some  sewing,  and  was  now 
industriously  regarding  the  stitches. 

At  Carterette's  question,  Guida  looked  up  and  said 
with  a  smile  :  "  Some  one  you  like,  I  see." 

Carterette  laughed  gayly.  "  Ba  su,  I  should  think 
I  did  —  in  a  way.  But  what 's  his  name  ?  Come, 
guess,  Ma'm'selle  Dignity  !  " 

"Eh  ben,  the  fairy  godmother,"  answered  Guida, 
trying  not  to  show  an  interest  she  felt  all  too  keenly ; 
for  nowadays  it  seemed  to  her  that  all  news  should  be 
about  Philip.  Besides,  she  was  gaining  time  and  pre- 
paring herself  for  —  she  knew  not  what. 

"  O  my  grief !  "  responded  the  brown-eyed  elf,  kick- 
ing off  a  red  slipper,  and  thrusting  her  foot  into  it 
again,  "  never  a  fairy  godmother  had  I,  unless  it 's  old 
Manon  Moignard  the  witch,  — 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  265 

'  Sas,  son,  bileton, 

My  grand'methe  a-fishing  has  gone  : 
She  '11  gather  the  fins  to  scrape  my  jowl, 
And  ride  back  home  on  a  barnyard  fowl ! ' 

Nannin,  ma'm'selle,  't  is  plain  to  be  seen  you  can't 
guess  what  a  cornfield  grows  besides  red  poppies ! " 
and  laughing  in  sheer  delight  at  the  mystery  she  was 
making,  she  broke  off  again  into  a  whimsical  nursery 
rhyme :  — 

" '  Coquelicot,  j'ai  mal  au  de  ; 
Coquelicot,  qu'est  qui  1'a  fait  ? 
Coquelicot,  ch'tai  mon  valet.'  " 

She  kicked  off  the  red  slipper  again.  Flying  half- 
way across  the  room,  it  alighted  on  the  table,  and 
a  little  mud  from  the  heel  dropped  on  the  clean 
scoured  surface.  With  a  little  moue  of  mockery,  she 
got  slowly  up  and  tiptoed  across  the  floor,  like  a  child 
afraid  of  being  scolded.  Gathering  the  dust  carefully, 
and  looking  demurely  askance  at  Guida  the  while,  she 
tiptoed  over  again  to  the  fireplace,  and  threw  it  into 
the  chimney. 

"  Naughty  Carterette !  "  she  said  at  herself  with 
admiring  reproach,  as  she  looked  in  Guida's  mirror, 
and  added,  glancing  with  farcical  approval  round  the 
room,  "and  it  all  shines  like  peacock's  feather,  too ! " 

Guida  longed  to  snatch  the  letter  from  Carterette's 
hand  and  read  it,  but  she  only  said  calmly,  though 
the  words  fluttered  in  her  throat :  — 

"  You  're  as  gay  as  a  chaffinch,  Gargon  Carterette  ! " 

Gargon  Carterette  !  Instantly  Carterette  sobered 
down.  No  one  save  Ranulph  ever  called  her  Gar^on 
Carterette  ! 

Guida  used  Ranulph's  name  for  Carterette,  knowing 
that  it  would  change  the  madcap's  mood.  Carterette, 


266     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

to  hide  a  sudden  flush,  stooped  and  slowly  put  on  her 
slipper.  Then  she  came  back  to  the  veille,  and  sat 
down  again  beside  Guida,  saying  as  she  did  so :  — 

"  Yes,  I  'm  gay  as  a  chaffinch  — me." 

She  unfolded  the  letter  slowly,  and  Guida  stopped 
sewing,  but  mechanically  began  to  prick  the  linen 
lying  on  her  knee  with  the  point  of  the  needle. 

"Well,"  said  Carterette  deliberately,  "  this  letter 's 
from  a  pend'loque  of  a  fellow,  —  at  least,  we  used  to 
call  him  that,  —  though  if  you  come  to  think,  he  was 
always  polite  as  mended  porringer.  Often  he  had  n't 
two  sous  to  rub  against  each  other.  And  —  and  not 
enough  buttons  for  his  clothes  !  " 

Guida  smiled.  She  guessed  whom  Carterette  meant. 
"Has  Monsieur  Detricand  more  buttons  now?"  she 
asked  with  a  little  whimsical  lift  of  the  eyebrows. 

"  Ah  bidemme,  yes,  and  gold  too,  all  over  him  — 
like  that ! "  She  made  a  quick  sweeping  gesture 
which  would  seem  to  make  Detricand  a  very  spangle 
of  buttons.  "  Come,  what  do  you  think  —  he  's  a 
general  now ! " 

"A  general  !  "  Instantly  Guida  thought  of  Philip, 
and  a  kind  of  envy  shot  into  her  heart  that  this  idler 
Detricand  should  mount  so  high  in  a  few  months,  —  a 
man  whose  past  had  held  nothing  to  warrant  such  suc- 
cess. "  A  general  !  —  where  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  In  the  Vendee  army,  fighting  for  the  new  King 
of  France  —  you  know  the  rebels  cut  off  the  last 
King's  head." 

At  another  time  Guida's  heart  would  have  throbbed 
with  elation,  for  the  romance  of  that  Vendeen  union 
of  aristocrat  and  peasant  fired  her  imagination  ;  but 
she  only  said  in  the  tongue  of  the  people,  "  Ma  f uifre  ! 
yes,  I  know." 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  267 

Carterette  was  delighted  to  thus  dole  out  her  news, 
and  get  due  reward  of  astonishment.  "  And  he 's 
another  name,"  she  added.  "  At  least  it 's  not  another, 
he  always  had  it,  but  he  did  n't  call  himself  by  it. 
Pardi,  he  's  more  than  the  Chevalier  ;  he  's  the  Comte 
Detricand  de  Tournay  —  ah,  then,  believe  me  if  you 
choose,  there  it  is  ! " 

She  pointed  to  the  signature  of  the  letter,  and  with 
a  gush  of  eloquence  explained  how  it  all  was  about 
Detricand  the  vaurien  and  Detricand  the  Comte  de 
Tournay. 

"  Good  riddance  to  Monsieur  Savary  dit  Detricand, 
and  good  welcome  to  the  Comte  de  Tournay,"  an- 
swered Guida,  trying  hard  to  humor  Carterette,  that 
she  should  sooner  hear  the  news  yet  withheld.  "  And 
what  follows  after  ?  " 

Carterette  was  half  sorry  that  her  great  moment 
had  come.  She  wished  she  could  have  linked  out  the 
suspense  longer.  But  she  let  herself  be  comforted  by 
the  anticipated  effect  of  her  "  wonderfuls." 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  comes  after —  ah,  but  see  then 
what  a  news  I  have  for  you  !  You  know  that  Monsieur 
d'Avranche- — well,  what  do  you  think  has  come  to 
him  ? " 

Guida  felt  as  if  a  monstrous  hand  had  her  heart 
in  its  grasp,  crushing  it.  Presentiment  seized  her. 
Carterette  was  busy  running  over  the  pages  of  the 
letter,  and  did  not  notice  her  colorless  face.  She  had 
no  thought  that  Guida  had  any  vital  interest  in  Philip, 
and  ruthlessly,  though  unconsciously,  she  began  to 
torture  the  young  wife  as  few  are  tortured  in  this 
world. 

She  read  aloud  Detricand's  description  of  his  visit 
to  the  Castle  of  Bercy,  and  of  the  meeting  with  Philip. 


268  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

"  '  See  what  comes  of  a  name  !  "  wrote  Detricand. 
"  '  Here  was  a  poor  prisoner  whose  ancestor,  hundreds 
of  years  ago,  may  or  may  n't  have  been  a  relative  of 
the  d'Avranches  of  Clermont,  when  a  disappointed 
duke,  with  an  eye  open  for  heirs,  takes  a  fancy  to  the 
good-looking  face  of  the  poor  prisoner,  and  voild  ! 
you  have  him  whisked  off  to  a  palace,  fed  on  milk  and 
honey,  and  adopted  into  the  family.  Then  a  pedigree 
is  nicely  grown  on  a  summer  day,  and  this  fine  young 
Jersey  adventurer  is  found  to  be  a  green  branch  from 
the1  old  root  ;  and  there  's  a  great  blare  of  trumpets, 
and  the  States  of  the  duchy  are  called  together  to 
make  this  English  officer  a  prince  —  and  that 's  the 
Thousand  and  One  Nights  in  Arabia,  Ma'm'selle  Car- 
terette  ! '  " 

Guida  was  sitting  rigid  and  still.  In  the  slight 
pause  Carterette  made,  a  hundred  confused  torturing 
thoughts  swam  through  her  mind  and  presently  floated 
into  the  succeeding  sentences  of  the  letter :  — 

" '  As  for  me,  I  'm  like  Rabot's  mare,  I  haven't  time 
to  laugh  at  my  own  foolishness.  I  'm  either  up  to  my 
knees  in  grass  or  clay  fighting  Revolutionists,  or  I  'm 
riding  hard  day  and  night  till  I  'm  round-backed  like 
a  wood-louse,  to  make  up  for  all  the  good  time  I  so 
badly  lost  in  your  little  island.  You  would  n't  have 
expected  that,  my  friend  with  the  tongue  that  stings, 
would  you  ?  But  then,  Ma'm'selle  of  the  red  slippers, 
one  is  never  butted  save  by  a  dishorned  cow  —  as 
your  father  used  to  say.'  " 

Carterette  paused  again,  saying  in  an  aside,  "  That 
is  M'sieu'  all  over,  all  so  gay.  But  who  knows  ?  For 
he  says,  too,  that  the  other  day  a-fighting  Fontenay, 
five  thousand  of  his  men  come  across  a  cavalry  as 
they  run  to  take  the  guns  that  eat  them  up  like 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  269 

cabbages,  and  they  drop  on  their  knees,  and  he  drops 
with  them,  and  they  all  pray  to  God  to  help  them, 
while  the  cannon-balls  whiz-whiz  over  their  heads. 
And  God  did  hear  them,  for  they  fell  down  flat  when 
the  guns  was  fired  and  the  cannon-balls  never  touched 
'em." 

During  this  interlude,  Guida,  sick  with  anxiety, 
could  scarcely  sit  still.  She  began  sewing  again, 
though  her  fingers  trembled  so  she  could  hardly  make 
a  stitch.  But  Carterette,  the  little  egoist,  did  not 
notice  her  agitation  ;  her  own  flurry  dimmed  her 
sight. 

She  began  reading  again.  The  first  few  words  had 
little  or  no  significance  for  Guida,  but  presently  she 
was  held  as  by  the  fascination  of  a  serpent. 

"'And  Ma'm'selle  Carterette,  what  do  you  think 
this  young  captain,  now  Prince  Philip  d'Avranche,  heir 
to  the  title  oi  Bercy  —  what  do  you  think  he  is  next 
to  do  ?  Even  to  marry  a  countess  of  great  family  the 
old  Duke  has  chosen  for  him  ;  so  that  the  name  of 
d'Avranche  may  not  die  out  in  the  land.  And  that  is 
the  way  that  love  begins.  .  .  .  Wherefore,  I  want  you 
to  write  and  tell  me ' ' 

What  he  wanted  Carterette  to  tell  him  Guida  never 
heard,  though  it  concerned  herself,  for  she  gave  a 
moan  like  a  dumb  animal  in  agony,  and  sat  rigid  and 
blanched,  the  needle  she  had  been  using  imbedded  in 
her  finger  to  the  bone,  but  not  a  motion,  not  a  sign  of 
animation  in  face  or  figure. 

All  at  once  some  conception  of  the  truth  burst 
upon  the  affrighted  Carterette.  The  real  truth  she 
imagined  as  little  as  had  Detricand. 

But  now  when  she  saw  the  blanched  face,  the  filmy 
eyes  and  stark  look,  the  finger  pierced  by  the  needle, 


2/0  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

she  knew  that  a  human  heart  had  been  pierced,  too, 
with  a  pain  worse  than  death  —  truly  it  was  worse,  for 
she  had  seen  death,  and  she  had  never  seen  anything 
like  this  in  its  dire  misery  and  horror.  She  caught 
the  needle  quickly  from  the  finger,  wrapped  her  ker- 
chief round  the  wound,  threw  away  the  sewing  from 
Guida's  lap,  and,  running  an  arm  about  her  waist, 
made  as  if  to  lay  a  hot  cheek  against  the  cold  brow  of 
her  friend.  Suddenly,  however,  with  a  new  and  pain- 
ful knowledge  piercing  her  intelligence,  and  a  face  as 
white  and  scared  as  Guida's  own,  she  ran  to  the 
dresser,  caught  up  a  hanap,  and  brought  some  water. 
Guida  still  sat  as  though  life  had  fled,  and  the  body, 
arrested  in  its  activity,  would  presently  collapse. 

Carterette,  with  all  her  seeming  lightsomeness,  had 
sense  and  self-possession.  She  tenderly  put  the  water 
to  Guida's  lips,  with  comforting  words,  though  her 
own  brain  was  in  a  whirl,  and  dark  forebodings  flashed 
through  her  mind. 

"Ah,  man  gui,  man  pethe !  "  she  said  in  the  homely 
patois.  "  There,  drink,  drink,  dear,  dear  couzaine  !  " 

Guida's  lips  opened,  and  she  drank  slowly,  putting 
her  hand  to  her  heart  with  a  gesture  of  pain.  Carte- 
rette put  down  the  hanap  and  caught  her  hands. 

"Come,  come,  these  cold  hands  —  pergui,  but  we 
must  stop  that!  They  are  so  cold!"  She  rubbed 
them  hard.  "The  poor  child  of  heaven  —  what  has 
come  over  you  ?  Speak  to  me  .  .  .  ah,  but  see, 
everything  will  come  all  right  by  and  by !  God  is 
good.  Nothing  's  as  bad  as  what  it  seems.  There 
was  never  a  gray  wind  but  there  's  a  grayer.  Nannin- 
gia,  take  it  not  so  to  heart,  my  couzaine ;  thou  shalt 
have  love  enough  in  the  world !  .  .  .  Ah,  grand  doux 
d'la  vie,  but  I  could  kill  him  !  "  she  added  under  her 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     271 

breath,  and  she  rubbed  Guida's  hands  still,  and  looked 
frankly,  generously  into  her  eyes. 

Yet,  try  as  she  would  in  that  supreme  moment, 
Carterette  could  not  feel  all  she  once  felt  concerning 
Guida.  There  is  something  humiliating  in  even  an 
undeserved  injury,  something  which,  to  the  human 
eye,  lessens  the  worthiness  of  its  victim.  To  this 
hour  Carterette  had  looked  upon  her  friend  as  a  being 
far  above  her  own  companionship.  All  in  a  moment, 
in  this  new  office  of  comforter  the  relative  status  was 
altered.  The  plane  on  which  Guida  had  moved  was 
lowered.  Pity,  while  it  deepened  Carterette's  tender- 
ness, lessened  the  gap  between  them. 

Perhaps  something  of  this  passed  through  Guida's 
mind,  and  the  deep  pride  and  courage  of  her  nature 
came  to  her  assistance.  She  withdrew  her  hands  and 
mechanically  smoothed  back  her  hair,  then,  as  Carter- 
ette sat  watching  her,  folded  up  the  sewing  and  put  it 
in  the  work-basket  hanging  on  the  wall. 

There  was  something  unnatural  in  her  governance 
of  herself  now.  She  seemed  as  if  doing  things  in  a 
dream,  but  she  did  them  accurately  and  with  apparent 
purpose.  She  looked  at  the  clock,  then  went  to  the 
fire  to  light  it,  for  it  was  almost  time  to  get  her  grand- 
father's tea.  She  did  not  seem  conscious  of  the  pre- 
sence of  Carterette,  who  still  sat  on  the  veille,  not 
knowing  quite  what  to  do.  At  last,  as  the  flame 
flashed  up  in  the  chimney,  she  came  over  to  her 
friend,  and  said  :  — 

"  Carterette,  I  am  going  to  the  Dean's.  Will  you 
run  and  ask  Maitresse  Aimable  to  come  here  to  me 
soon  ?" 

Her  voice  had  the  steadiness  of  despair,  —  that 
steadiness  coming  to  those  upon  whose  nerves  has 


272     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

fallen  a  great  numbness,  upon  whose  sensibilities  has 
settled  a  cloud  that  stills  them  as  the  thick  mist  stills 
the  ripples  on  the  waters  of  a  fen. 

All  the  glamour  of  Guida's  youth  had  dropped 
away.  She  had  deemed  life  good,  and,  behold,  it  was 
not  good ;  she  had  thought  her  dayspring  was  on  high, 
and  happiness  had  burnt  into  darkness  like  quick-con- 
suming flax.  But  all  was  strangely  quiet  in  her  heart 
and  mind.  Nothing  more  that  she  feared  could  hap- 
pen to  her ;  the  worst  had  fallen,  and  now  there  came 
down  on  her  the  impermeable  calm  of  the  doomed. 

Carterette  was  awed  by  her  face,  and,  saying  that 
she  would  go  at  once  to  Maitresse  Aimable,  she 
started  towards  the  door,  but  as  quickly  stopped  and 
came  back  to  Guida.  With  none  of  the  impulse  that 
usually  marked  her  actions,  she  put  her  arms  round 
Guida's  neck  and  kissed  her,  saying  with  a  subdued 
intensity  :  "  I  'd  go  through  fire  and  water  for  you.  I 
want  to  help  you  every  way  I  can  —  me  !  " 

Guida  did  not  say  a  word,  but  she  kissed  the  hot 
cheek  of  the  smuggler-pirate's  daughter,  as  in  dying 
one  might  kiss  the  face  of  a  friend  seen  with  filmy 
eyes. 

When  she  had  gone  Guida  drew  herself  up  with  a 
shiver.  She  was  conscious  that  new  senses  and  in- 
stincts were  born  in  her,  or  were  now  first  awakened 
to  life.  They  were  not  yet  under  control,  but  she  felt 
them,  and  in  so  far  as  she  had  power  to  think,  she 
used  them. 

Leaving  .the  house  and  stepping  into  the  Place  du 
Vier  Prison,  she  walked  quietly  and  steadily  up  the 
Rue  d'Driere.  She  did  not  notice  that  people  she 
met  glanced  at  her  curiously,  and  turned  to  look  after 
her  as  she  hurried  on. 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

IT  had  been  a  hot,  oppressive  day,  but  when,  a  half- 
hour  later,  Guida  hastened  back  from  a  fruitless 
visit  to  the  house  .of  the  Dean,  who  was  absent  in 
England,  a  vast  black  cloud  had  drawn  up  from  the 
south-east,  dropping  a  curtain  of  darkness  upon  the 
town.  As  she  neared  the  doorway  of  the  cottage,  a 
few  heavy  drops  began  to  fall,  and,  in  spite  of  her  bit- 
ter trouble,  she  quickened  her  footsteps,  fearing  that 
her  grandfather  had  come  back,  to  find  the  house 
empty  and  no  light  or  supper  ready. 

M.  de  Mauprat  had  preceded  her  by  not  more  than 
five  minutes.  His  footsteps  across  the  Place  du  Vier 
Prison  had  been  unsteady,  his  head  bowed,  though 
more  than  once  he  raised  it  with  a  sort  of  effort,  as 
it  were  in  indignation  or  defiance.  He  muttered  to 
himself  as  he  opened  the  door,  and  he  paused  in  the 
hallway  as  though  hesitating  to  go  forward.  After  a 
moment  he  made  a  piteous  gesture  of  his  hand 
towards  the  kitchen,  and  whispered  to  himself  in  a 
kind  of  reassurance.  Then  he  entered  the  room  and 
stood  still.  All  was  dark  save  for  the  glimmer  of  the 
fire. 

"Guida!  Guida!"  he  said  in  a  shaking,  muffled 
voice.  There  was  no  answer.  He  put  by  his  hat 
and  stick  in  the  corner,  and  felt  his  way  to  the  great 
chair  — -  he  seemed  to  have  lost  his  sight.  Finding 
the  familiar,  worn  arm  of  the  chair,  he  seated  himself 


274  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

with  a  heavy  sigh.  His  lips  moved,  and  he  shook  his 
head  now  and  then,  as  though  in  protest  against  some 
unspoken  thought. 

Presently  he  brought  his  clenched  hand  down 
heavily  on  the  table,  and  said  aloud  :  — 

"  They  lie  !  they  lie  !  The  Connetable  lies  !  Their 
tongues  shall  be  cut  out.  .  .  .  Ah,  my  little,  little 
child!  .  .  .  The  Connetable  dared  —  he  dared  —  to 
tell  me  this  evil  gossip  —  of  the  little  one  —  of  my 
Guida !  " 

He  laughed  contemptuously,  but  it  was  a  crackling, 
dry  laugh,  painful  in  its  cheerlessness.  He  drew  his 
snuff-box  from  his  pocket,  opened  it,  and  slowly  tak- 
ing a  pinch,  raised  it  towards  his  nose,  but  the  hand 
paused  halfway,  as  though  a  new  thought  arrested  it. 

In  the  pause  there  came  the  sound  of  the  front 
door  opening,  and  then  footsteps  in  the  hall. 

The  pinch  of  snuff  fell  from  the  fingers  of  the  old 
man  on  to  the  white  stuff  of  his  short-clothes,  but  as 
Guida  entered  the  room  and  stood  still  a  moment,  he 
did  not  stir  in  his  seat.  The  thundercloud  had  come 
still  lower  and  the  room  was  dark,  the  coals  in  the 
fireplace  being  now  covered  with  gray  ashes. 

"  Grandpethe  !  Grandpethe  !  "  Guida  said. 

He  did  not  answer.  His  heart  was  fluttering,  his 
tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth,  dry  and  thick. 
Now  he  should  know  the  truth,  now  he  should  be 
sure  that  they  had  lied  about  his  little  Guida,  those 
slanderers  of  the  Vier  Marchi !  Yet,  too,  he  had  a 
strange,  depressing  fear,  at  variance  with  his  loving 
faith  and  belief  that  in  Guida  there  was  no  wrong  : 
such  belief  as  has  the  strong  swimmer  that  he  can 
reach  the  shore  through  wave  and  tide  ;  yet  also  with 
strange  foreboding,  prelude  to  the  cramp  that  makes 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     275 

powerless,  defying  youth,  strength  and  skill.  He 
could  not  have  spoken  if  it  had  been  to  save  his  own 
life  —  or  hers. 

Getting  no  answer  to  her  words,  Guida  went  first 
to  the  hearth  and  stirred  the  fire,  the  old  man  sitting 
rigid  in  his  chair  and  regarding  her  with  fixed,  watch- 
ful eyes.  Then  she  found  two  candles  and  lighted 
them,  placing  them  on  the  mantel,  and  turning  to  the 
crasset  hanging  by  its  osier  rings  from  a  beam,  slowly 
lighted  it.  Turning  round,  she  was  full  in  the  light 
of  the  candles  and  the  shooting  flames  of  the  fire. 

De  Mauprat's  eyes  had  followed  her  every  motion, 
unconscious  of  his  presence  as  she  was.  This,  this 
was  not  the  Guida  he  had  known  !  This  was  not  his 
grandchild,  this  woman  with  the  pale,  cold  face,  and 
dark,  unhappy  eyes  ;  this  was  not  the  laughing  girl 
who  but  yesterday  was  a  babe  at  his  knee.  This  was 
not  — 

The  truth,  which  had  yet  been  before  his  blinded 
eyes  how  long  !  burst  upon  him.  The  shock  of  it 
snapped  the  filmy  thread  of  being.  As  the  escaping 
soul  found  its  wings,  spread  them,  and  rose  from  that 
dun  morass  called  Life,  the  Sieur  de  Mauprat,  giving 
a  long,  deep  sigh,  fell  back  in  his  great  arm-chair 
dead,  and  the  silver  snuff-box  rattled  to  the  floor. 

Guida  turned  round  with  a  sharp  cry.  Running  to 
him,  she  lifted  up  the  head  that  lay  over  on  his 
shoulder.  She  felt  his  pulse,  she  called  to  him. 
Opening  his  waistcoat,  she  put  her  ear  to  his  heart  ; 
but  it  was  still  —  still. 

A  mist,  a  blackness,  came  over  her  own  eyes,  and 
without  a  cry  or  a  word,  she  slid  to  the  floor  uncon- 
scious, as  the  black  thunderstorm  broke  upon  the 
Place  du  Vier  Prison. 


276  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

The  rain  was  like  a  curtain  let  down  between  the 
prying,  clattering  world  without  and  the  strange 
peace  within :  the  old  man  in  his  perfect  sleep ;  the 
young,  misused  wife  in  that  passing  oblivion  borrowed 
from  death  and  as  tender  and  compassionate  while 
it  lasts. 

As  though  with  merciful  indulgence,  Fate  permitted 
no  one  to  enter  upon  the  dark  scene  save  a  woman 
in  whom  was  a  deep  motherhood  which  had  never 
nourished  a  child,  and  to  whom  this  silence  and  this 
sorrow  gave  no  terrors.  Silence  was  her  constant 
companion,  and  for  sorrow  she  had  been  granted 
the  touch  that  assuages  the  sharpness  of  pain  and  the 
love  called  neighborly  kindness. 

Unto  her  it  was  given  to  minister  here.  As  the 
night  went  by,  and  the  offices  had  been  done  for  the 
dead,  she  took  her  place  by  the  bedside  of  the  young 
wife,  who  lay  staring  into  space,  tearless  and  still,  the 
life  consuming  away  within  her. 

In  the  front  room  of  the  cottage,  his  head  buried 
in  his  hands,  Ranulph  Delagarde  sat  watching  beside 
the  body  of  the  Sieur  de  Mauprat. 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

IN  the  Rue  d'Driere,  the  undertaker  and  his  head 
apprentice  were  right  merry.  But  why  should 
they  not  be  ?  People  had  to  die,  quoth  the  under- 
taker, and  when  dead  they  must  be  buried.  Burying 
was  a  trade,  and  wherefore  should  not  one  —  dis- 
creetly —  be  cheerful  at  one's  trade  ?  In  undertaking 
there  were  many  miles  to  trudge  with  coffins  in  a 
week,  and  the  fixed,  sad,  sympathetic  look  long  cus- 
tom had  stereotyped  was  wearisome  to  the  face  as  a 
cast  of  plaster-of-paris.  Moreover,  the  undertaker 
was  master  of  ceremonies  at  the  house  of  bereave- 
ment as  well.  He  not  only  arranged  the  funeral, 
he  sent  out  the  invitations  to  the  "friends  of  de- 
ceased, who  are  requested  to  return  to  the  house 
of  the  mourners  after  the  obsequies  for  refreshment." 
All  the  preparations  for  this  feast  were  made  by 
the  undertaker,  —  Master  of  Burials  he  chose  to  be 
called. 

Once,  after  a  busy  six  months,  in  which  a  fever  had 
carried  off  many  a  Jersiais,  the  Master  of  Burials  had 
given  a  picnic  to  his  apprentices,  workmen,  and  their 
families.  At  this  buoyant  function  he  had  raised  his 
glass,  and  with  playful  plaintiveness  proposed,  "The 
day  we  celebrate !  " 

He  was  in.  a  no  less  blithesome  mood  this  day.  The 
head  apprentice  was  reading  aloud  the  accounts  for 
the  burials  of  the  month,  while  the  master  checked 


278     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

off  the  items,  nodding  approval,  commenting,  correct- 
ing, or  condemning  with  strange  expletives. 

"Don't  gabble,  gabble !  Next  one  slowlee!"  said 
the  Master  of  Burials,  as  the  second  account  was  laid 
aside,  duly  approved.  "  Eh  ben,  now  let 's  hear  the 
next.  Who  is  it  ? " 

"  That  Josue  Anquetil,"  answered  the  apprentice. 

The  Master  of  Burials  rubbed  his  hands  together 
with  a  creepy  sort  of  glee.  "  Ah,  that  was  a  clever 
piece  of  work !  Too  little  of  a  length  and  a  width  for 
the  box,  but  let  us  be  thankful  —  it  might  have  been 
too  short,  and  it  wasn't." 

"  No  danger  of  that,  pardingue !  "  broke  in  the 
apprentice.  "The  first  it  belonged  to  was  a  foot 
longer  than  Josue  —  he." 

"  But  I  made  the  most  of  Josue,"  continued  the 
Master.  "  The  mouth  was  crooked,  but  he  was  clean, 
clean  —  I  shaved  him  just  in  time.  And  he  had  good 
hair  for  combing  to  a  peaceful  look,  and  he  was  light 
to  carry  —  O  my  good  !  Go  on,  what  has  Josu6  the 
centenier  to  say  for  himself  ? " 

With  a  drawling  dull  indifference,  the  lank,  hatchet- 
faced  servitor  of  the  master  servitor  of  the  grave  read 
off  the  items  :  — 

"  The  Relict  ofjosul  Anquetil,  Centenier,  in  account  -with 
Etienne  Mahye,  Master  of  Burials. 

Livres.  Sols.  Farthings. 
"Item: 
Paid  to  Gentlemen  of  Vingtaine,  who  carried 

him  to  his  grave 440 

Ditto  to  me,  Etienne  Mahye,  for  proper  gloves 

of  silk  and  cotton I        o        o 

Ditto  to  me,  E.  M.,  for  laying  of  him  out 

and  all  that  appertains  ....070 
Ditto  to  me,  E.  M.,  for  coffin  ...400 
Ditto  to  me,  E.  M.,  for  divers  .  .  o  4  o " 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     279 

The  Master  of  Burials  interrupted.  "  Bat'd'lagoule, 
you  've  forgot  blacking  for  coffin  !  " 

The  apprentice  made  the  correction  without  deign- 
ing reply,  and  then  went  on  :  — 

Livres.  Sols.  Farthings. 
"  Ditto  to  me,  E.  M.,  for  black  for  blacking 

coffin     .        . o        3        o 

Ditto  to  me,  E.  M.,  paid  out  for  supper  after 

obs'quies      .......320 

Ditto  to  me,  E.  M.,  paid  out  for  wine  (3  pots 

and  I  pt.  at  a  shilling)  for  ditto  ...       2         5        6 

Ditto   to   me,  E.  M.,  paid   out  for  oil   and 

candle  ........070 

Ditto  to  me,  E.  M.,  given  to  the  poor,  as  fit- 
ting station  of  deceased       .         .         .         •       4         o        o " 

The  apprentice  stopped.     "  That  's  all/'  he  said. 

There  was  a  furious  leer  on  the  face  of  the  Mas- 
ter of  Burials.  So,  after  all  his  care,  apprentices 
would  never  learn  to  make  mistakes  on  his  side. 
"  Always  on  the  side  of  the  corpse,  that  can  thank 
nobody  for  naught,  O  my  grief!"  was  his  snarling 
comment. 

"What  about  those  turnips  from  Denise  Gareau, 
numskull ! "  he  grunted  in  a  voice  between  a  sneer 
and  a  snort. 

The  apprentice  was  unmoved.  He  sniffed,  rubbed 
his  nose  with  a  forefinger,  laboriously  wrote  for  a 
moment,  and  then  added  :  — 

"  Ditto  to  Madame  Denise  Gareau  for  turnips  for 

supper  after  obs'quies losols" 

"  Saperlote  !  leave  out  the  Madame,  calf -lugs  — 
you  ! " 

The  apprentice  did  not  move  a  ringer.  Obsti- 
nacy sat  enthroned  on  him.  In  a  rage,  the  Master 


280  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

made  a  snatch  at  a  metal  flower-wreath  to  throw  at 
him. 

"  Shan't !  She  's  my  aunt.  I  knows  my  duties  to 
my  aunt  — me  !  "  said  the  apprentice  stolidly. 

The  Master  burst  out  in  a  laugh  of  scorn.  "  Gad'- 
rabotin,  here  's  family  pride  for  you !  I  '11  go  stick 
dandelines  in  my  old  sow's  ear  —  respe  d'la  com- 
pagnie." 

The  apprentice  was  still  calm.  "If  you  want  to 
flourish  yourself,  don't  mind  me,"  said  he,  and  picking 
up  the  next  account,  he  began  reading  :  — 

"  Mademoiselle  Landresse,  in  the  matter  of  the  Burial  of  the 

Sieur  de  Mauprat,  to  Etienne  Mahye,  &*<:." 
"  Item  "  — 

The  first  words  read  by  the  apprentice  had  stilled 
the  breaking  storm  of  the  Master's  anger.  It  dis- 
solved in  a  fragrant  dew  of  proud  reminiscence,  profit, 
and  scandal. 

He  himself  had  no  open  prejudices.  He  was  an 
official  of  the  public, —  or  so  he  counted  himself,— 
and  he  very  shrewdly  knew  his  duty  in  that  walk  of 
life  to  which  it  had  pleased  Heaven  to  call  him.  The 
greater  the  notoriety  of  the  death,  the  more  in  evi- 
dence was  the  Master  and  all  his  belongings.  Death 
with  honor  was  an  advantage  to  him  ;  death  with  dis- 
aster a  boon  ;  death  with  scandal  was  a  godsend.  It 
brought  tears  of  gratitude  to  his  eyes  when  the  death 
and  the  scandal  were  in  high  places.  These  were  the 
only  real  tears  he  ever  shed.  His  heart  was  in  his 
head,  and  the  head  thought  solely  of  Etienne  Mahye. 
Though  he  wore  an  air  of  sorrow  and  sympathy  in 
public,  he  had  no  more  feeling  than  a  hangman.  His 
sympathy  seemed  to  say  to  the  living,  "I  wonder 
how  §oon  you  '11  come  into  my  hands  ! "  and  to  the 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  281 

dead,  "  What   a  pity  you  can  only  die  once  —  and 
second-hand  coffins  so  hard  to  get !  " 

"  Item :  paid  to  me,  Etienne  Mahye," 

droned  the  voice  of  the  apprentice,  — 

"  for  rosewood  coffin  "  — 

"  O  my  good  !  "  interrupted  the  Master  of  Burials 
with  a  barren  chuckle,  and  rubbing  his  hands  with 
glee,  "  O  my  good,  that  was  a  day  in  a  lifetime  !  I  Ve 
done  fine  work  in  my  time,  but  upon  that  day  —  not 
a  cloud  above,  no  dust  beneath,  a  flowing  tide,  and  a 
calm  sea.  The  Royal  Court,  too,  caught  on  a  sudden 
marching  in  their  robes,  turns  to  and  joins  the  cor- 
tegee,  and  the  little  birds  a-tweeting-tweeting,  and 
two  parsons  at  the  grave.  Pardingue,  the  Lord  was 
with  me  that  day,  and  "  — 

The  apprentice  laughed  —  a  dry,  mirthless  laugh  of 
disbelief  and  ridicule.  "  Ba  su,  Master,  the  Lord  was 
watching  you.  There  was  two  silver  bits  inside  that 
coffin,  on  Sieur's  ey£s  ! " 

"  Bigre !  "  The  Master  was  pale  with  rage.  His 
lips  drew  back,  disclosing  long  dark  teeth  and  sickly 
gums,  in  a  grimace  of  fury.  He  reached  out  to  seize 
a  hammer  lying  at  his  hand,  but  the  apprentice  said 
quickly  :  — 

"  Sapri  !    That 's  the  cholera  hammer !  " 

The  Master  of  Burials  dropped  the  hammer  as 
though  it  were  at  white  heat,  and  eyed  it  with  scared 
scrutiny.  This  hammer  had  been  used  in  nailing 
down  the  coffins  of  six  cholera  patients  who  had  died 
in  one  house  at  Rozel  Bay  a  year  before.  The  Master 
would  not  himself  go  near  the  place,  so  this  appren- 
tice had  gone,  on  a  promise  from  the  Royal  Court 
that  he  should  have  for  himself  —  this  he  demanded 
as  reward  —  free  lodging  in  two  small  upper  rooms 


282  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

of  the  Cohue  Royal e,  just  under  the  bell  which  said 
to  the  world,  Chicane  —  chicane  !  Chicane  —  chicane  ! 

This  he  asked,  and  this  he  got,  and  he  alone  of  all 
Jersey  went  out  to  bury  three  people  who  had  died 
of  cholera ;  and  then  to  watch  three  others  die,  to 
bury  them  scarce  cold,  and  come  back,  with  a  leer  of 
satisfaction,  to  claim  his  price.  At  first  people  were 
inclined  to  make  a  hero  of  him,  but  that  only  made 
him  grin  the  more,  and  at  last  the  Island  reluctantly 
decided  that  he  had  done  the  work  solely  for  fee  and 
reward. 

The  hammer  used  in  nailing  the  coffins,  he  had 
carried  through  the  town  like  an  emblem  of  terror 
and  death,  and  henceforth  he  only  in  the  shop  of  the 
Master  touched  it. 

"  It  won't  hurt  you  if  you  leave  it  alone,"  said  the 
apprentice  grimly  to  the  Master  of  Burials.  "  But  if 
you  go  bothering,  I  '11  put  it  in  your  bed,  and  it  '11  do 
after  to  nail  down  your  coffin  !  "  " 

Then  he  went  on  reading  with  a  malicious  calmness, 
as  though  the  matter  were  the  dullest  trifle  :  — 

"  Item :  one  dozen  pairs  of  gloves  for  mourners. 

"  Par  made !  that 's  one  way  of  putting  it,"  com- 
mented the  apprentice,  "  for  what  mourners  was  there 
but  Ma'm'selle  herself,  and  she  quiet  as  a  mice,  and 
not  a  teardrop,  and  all  the  Island  necks  end  to  end 
for  look  at  her,  and  you,  Master,  whispering  to  her, 
'The  Lord  is  the  Giver  and  Taker,'  and  the  Femme 
de  Ballast  t'  other  side,  saying,  '  My  dee-ar,  my  dee-ar, 
bear  thee  up,  bear  thee  up  —  thee.'  " 

"  And  she  looking  so  steady  in  front  of  her,  as  if 
never  was  shame  about  her  —  and  her  there  soon  to 
be !  and  no  ring  of  gold  upon  her  hand,  and  all  the 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  283 

world  staring !  "  broke  in  the  Master,  who,  having 
edged  away  from  the  cholera  hammer,  was  launched 
upon  a  theme  that  stirred  his  very  soul.  "  All  the 
world  staring,  and  good  reason  !  "  he  added. 

"  And  she  scarce  winking,  eh  ? "  said  the  appren- 
tice. 

"  True  that !  Her  eyes  did  n't  feel  the  cold,"  said 
the  Master  of  Burials  with  a  leer,  for  to  his  sight  as 
to  that  of  others,  only  as  boldness  had  been  Guida's 
bitter  courage,  the  blank,  despairing  gaze,  coming 
from  eyes  that  turn  their  agony  inward. 

The  apprentice  took  up  the  account  again,  and 
prepared  to  read  it.  The  Master,  however,  had  been 
roused  to  a  genial  theme.  "Poor  fallen  child  of  Na- 
ture !  "  said  he.  "  For  what  is  birth  or  what  is  looks 
of  virtue  like  a  summer  flower !  It  is  to  be  brought 
down  by  hand  of  man."  He  was  warmed  to  his 
text.  Habit  had  long  made  him  so  much  hypocrite, 
that  he  was  sentimentalist  and  hard  materialist  in  one. 
"  Some  pend'loque  has  brought  her  beauty  to  this 
pass,  but  she  must  suffer  —  and  also  his  time  will 
come,  the  sulphur,  the  torment,  the  worm  that  dieth 
not  —  and  no  Abraham  for  parched  tongue  —  misery 
me  !  They  that  meet  in  sin  here  shall  meet  hereafter 
in  burning  fiery  furnace." 

The  cackle  of  the  apprentice  rose  above  the  whin- 
ing voice.  "  Murder,  too,  —  don't  forget  the  murder, 
Master.  The  Connetable  told  the  old  Sieur  de  Mau- 
prat  what  people  were  blabbing,  and  in  half  hour  dead 
he  is  —  he !  " 

"  Et  ben,  the  Sieur's  blood  it  is  upon  their  heads," 
continued  the  Master  of  Burials  ;  "  it  will  rise  up  from 
the  ground  "  — 

The  apprentice  interrupted.     "  A  good  thing  if  the 


284     THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG 

Sieur  himself  does  n't  rise,  for  you  'd  get  naught  for 
coffin  or  obs'quies.  It  was  you  tells  the  Connetable 
what  folks  babbled,  and  the  Connetable  tells  the  Sieur, 
and  the  Sieur  it  kills  him  dead.  So  if  he  rised,  he  'd 
not  pay  you  for  murdering  him  —  no,  bidemme  !  And 
't  is  a  gobbly  mouthful  —  this  !  "  he  added,  holding  up 
the  bill. 

The  undertaker's  lips  smacked  softly,  as  though  in 
truth  he  were  waiting  for  the  mouthful.  Rubbing  his 
hands,  and  drawing  his  lean  leg  up  till  it  touched  his 
nose,  he  looked  over  it  with  avid  eyes,  and  said  : 
"How  much?  —  don't  read  the  items,  but  come  to 
total  debit  —  how  much  she  pays  me  ?  " 

"  Ma'm'selle  Landresse,  debtor  in  all  for  one  hundred  and  twenty 
livres,  eleven  sols,  and  two  farthings. 

Shan't  you  make  it  one  hundred  and  twenty-one 
livres  ? "  added  the  apprentice. 

"  God  forbid  !  the  odd  sols  and  farthings  are  mine 
—  no  more  !  "  returned  the  Master  of  Burials.  "  Also 
they  look  exact ;  but  the  courage  it  needs  to  be  honest ! 
O  my  grief,  if  "  — 

"  'Sh  ! "  said  the  apprentice  pointing,  and  the  Mas- 
ter of  Burials,  turning,  saw  Guida  pass  the  window. 

With  a  hungry  instinct  for  the  morbid  they  stole 
to  the  doorway  and  looked  down  the  Rue  d'Driere 
after  her.  The  Master  was  sympathetic,  for  had  he 
not  in  his  fingers  at  that  moment  a  bill  for  a  hundred 
and  twenty  livres  odd  ?  The  way  the  apprentice 
craned  his  neck,  and  tightened  the  forehead  over  his 
large,  protuberant  eyes,  showed  his  intense  curiosity, 
but  the  face  was  implacable.  It  was  like  that  of  some 
strong  fate,  superior  to  all  influences  of  sorrow,  shame, 
or  death.  Presently  he  laughed  —  a  crackling  cackle 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  285 

like  new-lighted  kindling  wood;  nothing  could  have 
been  more  inhuman  in  sound.  What  in  particular 
aroused  this  arid  mirth  probably  he  himself  did  not 
know.  Maybe  it  was  a  native  cruelty  which  had  a 
sort  of  sardonic  pleasure  in  the  miseries  of  the  world. 
Or  was  it  only  the  perception,  sometimes  given  to  the 
dullest  mind,  of  the  futility  of  goodness,  the  futility  of 
all  ?  This  perhaps,  since  the  apprentice  shared  with 
Dormy  Jamais  his  rooms  at  the  top  of  the  Cohue 
Royale ;  and  there  must  have  been  some  natural  bond 
of  kindness  between  the  blank,  sardonic  undertaker's 
apprentice  and  the  poor  beganne,  who  now  officially 
rang  the  bell  for  the  meetings  of  the  Royal  Court. 

The  dry  cackle  of  the  apprentice  as  he  looked  after 
Guida  roused  a  mockery  of  indignation  in  the  Master. 
"  Sacre  matin,  a  back-hander  on  the  jaw  'd  do  you 
good,  slubberdegullion  —  you  !  Ah,  get  go  scrub  the 
coffin  blacking  from  your  jowl !  "  he  rasped  out  with 
furious  contempt. 

The  apprentice  seemed  not  to  hear,  but  kept  on 
looking  after  Guida,  a  pitiless  leer  on  his  face. 
"  Dame  !  lucky  for  her  the  Sieur  died  before  he  had 
chance  to  change  his  will.  She  'd  have  got  ni  fiche 
ni  bran  from  him  !  " 

"  Support  d'en  haut !  if  you  don't  stop  that  I  '11  give 
you  a  coffin  before  your  time,  keg  of  nails  —  you ! 
Sorrow  and  prayer  at  the  throne  of  grace  that  she 
may  have  a  contrite  heart "  —  he  clutched  the  funeral 
bill  tighter  in  his  fingers  —  "is  what  we  must  feel  for 
her.  The  day  the  Sieur  died  and  it  all  came  out,  I 
wept.  Bedtime  come  I  had  to  sop  my  eyes  with  elder- 
water.  The  day  o'  the  burial  mine  eyes  were  so  sore 
a-draining,  I  had  to  put  a  rotten  sweet  apple  on  'em 
over-night  —  me  !  " 


286     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

"  Ah  bah  !  she  does  n't  need  rosemary  wash  for  her 
hair  ! "  said  the  apprentice  admiringly,  looking  down 
the  street  after  Guida  as  she  turned  into  the  Rue 
d'Egypte. 

Perhaps  it  was  a  momentary  sympathy  for  beauty 
in  distress  which  made  the  Master  say,  as  he  backed 
from  the  doorway  with  stealthy  step  :  — 

"  Gatd'en'ale,  't  is  well  she  has  enough  to  live  on, 
and  to  provide  for  what 's  to  come !  " 

But  if  it  was  a  note  of  humanity  in  the  voice  it 
passed  quickly,  for  presently,  as  he  examined  the  bill 
for  the  funeral  of  the  Sieur  de  Mauprat,  he  said, 
shrilly  :  — 

"  Achocre,  you  Ve  left  out  the  extra  satin  for  his 
pillow  —  you  !  " 

"  There  was  n't  any  extra  satin,"  drawled  the  ap- 
prentice. 

With  a  snarl  the  Master  of  Burials  seized  a  pen 
and  wrote  in  the  account :  — 

"  Item  :    To  extra  satin  for  pillow,  three  livres." 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 

'S  once  blithe,  rose-colored  face  was  pale 
VJT  as  ivory,  the  mouth  had  a  look  of  deep  sadness, 
and  the  step  was  slow  ;  but  the  eye  was  clear  and 
steady,  and  her  hair,  brushed  under  the  black  crape 
of  the  bonnet  as  smoothly  as  its  nature  would  admit, 
gave  to  the  broad  brow  a  setting  of  rare  attraction 
and  sombre  nobility.  It  was  not  a  face  that  knew 
inward  shame,  but  it  carried  a  look  that  showed 
knowledge  of  life's  cruelties  and  a  bitter  sensitiveness 
to  pain.  Above  all  else  it  was  fearless,  and  it  had  no 
touch  of  the  consciousness  or  the  consequences  of 
sin  ;  it  was  purity  itself. 

It  alone  should  have  proclaimed  abroad  her  inno- 
cence, though  she  said  no  word  in  testimony.  To 
most  people,  however,  her  dauntless  sincerity  only 
added  to  her  crime  and  to  the  scandalous  mystery. 
Yet  her  manner  awed  some,  while  her  silence  held 
most  back.  The  few  who  came  to  offer  sympathy, 
with  curiousness  in  their  eyes  and  as  much  inhuman- 
ity as  pity  in  their  hearts,  were  turned  back  gently 
but  firmly,  more  than  once  with  proud  resentment. 

So  it  chanced  that  soon  only  Maitresse  Aim  able 
came,  —  she  who  asked  no  questions,  desired  no  secrets, 
—  and  Dormy  Jamais. 

Dormy  had  of  late  haunted  the  precincts  of  the 
Place  du  Vier  Prison,  and  was  the  only  person  besides 
Maitresse  Aimable  whom  Guida  welcomed.  His  tire- 


288  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

less  feet  went  clac-clac  past  her  doorway,  or  halted  by 
it,  or  entered  in  when  it  pleased  him.  He  was  more 
a  watch-dog  than  Biribi ;  he  fetched  and  carried  ;  he 
was  silent  and  sleepless  —  always  sleepless.  It  was 
as  if  some  past  misfortune  had  opened  his  eyes  to  the 
awful  bitterness  of  life,  and  they  had  never  closed 
again. 

The  Chevalier  had  not  been  with  her,  for  on  the 
afternoon  of  the  very  day  her  grandfather  died,  he 
had  gone  a  secret  voyage  to  St.  Malo,  to  meet  the 
old  solicitor  of  his  family.  He  knew  nothing  of  his 
friend's  death  or  of  Guida's  trouble.  As  for  Carterette, 
Guida  would  not  let  her  come  —  for  her  own  sake. 

Nor  did  Maitre  Ranulph  visit  her  after  the  funeral 
of  the  Sieur  de  Mauprat.  The  horror  of  the  thing  had 
struck  him  dumb,  and  his  mind  was  one  confused  mass 
of  conflicting  thoughts.  There  —  there  were  the  terri- 
fying facts  before  him  ;  yet,  with  an  obstinacy  peculiar 
to  him,  he  still  went  on  believing  in  her  goodness  and 
in  her  truth.  Of  the  man  who  had  injured  her  he  had 
no  doubt,  and  his  course  was  clear,  in  the  hour  when 
he  and  Philip  d'Avranche  should  meet.  Meanwhile, 
from  a  spirit  of  delicacy,  avoiding  the  Place  du  Vier 
Prison,  he  visited  Maitresse  Aimable,  and  from  day  to 
day  learned  all  that  happened  to  Guida.  As  of  old, 
without  her  knowledge,  he  did  many  things  for  her 
through  the  same  Maitresse  Aimable.  And  it  quickly 
came  to  be  known  in  the  Island  that  any  one  who 
spoke  ill  of  Guida  in  his  presence  did  so  at  no  little 
risk.  At  first  there  had  been  those  who  marked  him 
as  the  wrong-doer,  but  somehow  that  did  not  suit 
with  the  case,  for  it  was  clear  he  loved  Guida  now  as 
he  had  always  done ;  and  this  the  world  knew,  as  it 
had  known  that  he  would  have  married  her  all  too 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  289 

gladly.  Presently  Detricand  and  Philip  were  the  only 
names  mentioned,  but  at  last,  as  by  common  consent, 
Philip  was  settled  upon,  for  such  evidence  as  there 
was  pointed  that  way.  The  gossips  set  about  to  recall 
all  that  had  happened  when  Philip  was  in  Jersey  last. 
Here  one  came  forward  with  a  tittle  of  truth,  and 
there  another  with  tattle  of  falsehood,  and  at  last  as 
wild  a  story  was  fabricated  as  might  be  heard  in  a 
long  day. 

But  in  bitterness  Guida  kept  her  own  counsel. 

This  day  when  she  passed  the  undertaker's  shop 
she  had  gone  to  visit  the  grave  of  her  grandfather. 
He  had  died  without  knowing  the  truth,  and  her  heart 
was  hardened  against  him  who  had  brought  misery 
upon  her.  Reaching  the  cottage  in  the  Place  du  Vier 
Prison  now,  she  took  from  a  drawer  the  letter  Philip 
had  written  her  on  the  day  he  first  met  the  Comtesse 
Chantavoine.  She  had  received  it  a  week  ago.  She 
read  it  through  slowly,  shuddering  a  little  once  or 
twice.  When  she  had  finished,  she  drew  paper  to  her 
and  began  a  reply. 

The  first  crisis  of  her  life  was  passed.  She  had  met 
the  shock  of  utter  disillusion  ;  her  own  perfect  honesty 
now  fathomed  the  black  dishonesty  of  the  man  she  had 
loved.  Death  had  come  with  sorrow  and  unmerited 
shame.  But  an  innate  greatness,  a  deep  courage  sup- 
ported her.  Out  of  her  wrongs  and  miseries  now  she 
made  a  path  for  her  future,  and  in  that  path  Philip's 
foot  should  never  be  set.  She  had  thought  and  thought, 
and  had  come  to  her  decision.  In  one  month  she 
had  grown  years  older  in  mind.  Sorrow  gave  her 
knowledge,  it  threw  her  back  on  her  native  strength 
and  goodness.  Rising  above  mere  personal  wrong  she 
grew  to  a  larger  sense  of  womanhood,  to  a  true  under- 


290     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

standing  of  her  position  and  its  needs.  She  loved  no 
longer,  but  Philip  was  her  husband  by  the  law,  and 
even  as  she  had  told  him  her  whole  mind  and  heart 
in  the  days  of  their  courtship  and  marriage,  she  would 
tell  him  her  whole  mind  and  heart  now.  Once  more, 
to  satisfy  the  bond,  to  give  full  reasons  for  what  she 
was  about  to  do,  she  would  open  her  soul  to  her  hus- 
band, and  then  no  more !  In  all  she  wrote  she  kept 
but  two  things  back,  her  grandfather's  death  —  and 
one  other.  These  matters  belonged  to  herself  alone. 

"No,  Philip  d'Avranche,"  she  wrote,  "your  mes- 
sage came  too  late.  All  that  you  might  have  said 
and  done  should  have  been  said  and  done  long  ago,  in 
that  past  which  I  believe  in  no  more.  I  will  not  ask 
you  why  you  acted  as  you  did  towards  me.  Words 
can  alter  nothing  now.  Once  I  thought  you  true, 
and  this  letter  you  send  would  have  me  still  believe 
so.  Do  you  then  think  so  ill  of  my  intelligence  ?  In 
the  light  of  the  past  it  may  be  you  have  reason,  for 
you  know  that  I  once  believed  in  you  !  Think  of  it 
— believed  in  you  ! 

"How  bad  a  man  are  you !  In  spite  of  all  your  pro- 
mises ;  in  spite  of  the  surrender  of  honest  heart  and 
life  to  you  ;  in  spite  of  truth  and  every  call  of  honor, 
you  denied  me  —  dared  to  deny  me,  at  the  very  time 
you  wrote  this  letter. 

"  For  the  hopes  and  honors  of  this  world,  you  set 
aside,  first  by  secrecy,  and  then  by  falsehood,  the 
helpless  girl  to  whom  you  once  swore  undying  love. 
You,  who  knew  the  open  book  of  her  heart,  you  threw 
it  in  the  dust.  '  Of  course  there  is  no  wife  ? '  the  Due 
de  Bercy  said  to  you  before  the  States  of  Bercy.  '  Of 
course,'  you  answered.  You  told  your  lie  without  pity. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     291 

"Were  you  blind  that  you  did  not  see  the  conse- 
quences ?  Or  did  you  not  feel  the  horror  of  your 
falsehood  ?  —  to  play  shuttle-cock  with  a  woman's  life, 
with  the  soul  of  your  wife ;  for  that  is  what  your  con- 
duct means.  Did  you  not  realize  it,  or  were  you  so 
wicked  that  you  did  not  care  ?  For  I  know  that  be- 
fore you  wrote  me  this  letter,  and  afterwards  when 
you  had  been  made  prince,  and  heir  to  the  duchy,  the 
Comtesse  Chantavoine  was  openly  named  by  the  Due 
de  Bercy  for  your  wife. 

"  Now  read  the  truth.  I  understand  all  now.  I  am 
no  longer  the  thoughtless,  believing  girl  whom  you 
drew  from  her  simple  life  to  give  her  so  cruel  a  fate. 
Yesterday  I  was  a  child,  to-day  —  Oh,  above  all  else, 
do  you  think  I  can  ever  forgive  you  for  having  killed 
the  faith,  the  joy  of  life  that  was  in  me !  You  have 
spoiled  for  me  forever  my  rightful  share  of  the  joyous 
and  the  good.  My  heart  is  sixty  though  my  body  is 
not  twenty.  How  dared  you  rob  me  of  all  that  was 
my  birthright,  of  all  that  was  my  life,  and  give  me 
nothing  —  nothing  in  return  ! 

"  Do  you  remember  how  I  begged  you  not  to  make 
me  marry  you;  but  you  urged  me, and  because  I  loved 
you  and  trusted  you,  I  did  ?  how  I  entreated  you  not 
to  make  me  marry  you  secretly,  but  you  insisted,  and 
loving  you,  I  did  ?  how  you  promised  you  would  leave 
me  at  the  altar  and  not  see  me  till  you  came  again  to 
claim  me  openly  for  your  wife,  and  you  broke  that 
sacred  promise  ?  Do  you  remember  —  my  hiisband  ! 

"  Do  you  remember  that  night  in  the  garden  when 
the  wind  came  moaning  up  from  the  sea  ?  Do  you 
remember  how  you  took  me  in  your  arms,  and  even 
while  I  listened  to  your  tender  and  assuring  words,  in 
that  moment — ah,  the  hurt  and  the  wrong  and  the 


292  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

shame  of  it !  Afterwards  in  the  strange  confusion,  in 
my  blind  helplessness  I  tried  to  say,  'But  he  loved 
me/  and  I  tried  to  forgive  you.  Perhaps  in  time  I 
might  have  made  myself  believe  I  did ;  for  then  I  did 
not  know  you  as  you  are  —  and  were ;  but  understand- 
ing all  now  I  feel  that  in  that  hour  I  really  ceased  to 
love  you ;  and  when  at  last  I  knew  you  had  denied 
me,  love  was  buried  forever. 

"  Your  worst  torment  is  to  come,  mine  has  already 
been  with  me.  When  my  miseries  first  fell  upon  me, 
I  thought  that  I  must  die.  Why  should  I  live  on  — 
why  should  I  not  die  ?  The  sea  was  near,  and  it 
buries  deep.  I  thought  of  all  the  people  that  live  on 
the  great  earth,  and  I  said  to  myself  that  the  soul  of 
one  poor  girl  could  not  count,  that  it  could  concern 
no  one  but  myself.  It  was  clear  to  me  —  I  must  die 
and  end  all. 

"  But  there  came  to  me  a  voice  in  the  night  which 
said,  '  Is  thy  life  thine  own  to  give  or  to  destroy  ? ' 
It  was  clearer  than  my  own  thinking.  It  told  my 
heart  that  death  by  one's  own  hand  meant  shame ; 
and  I  saw  then  that  to  find  rest  I  must  drag  unwill- 
ing feet  over  the  good  name  and  memory  of  my  dead 
loved  ones.  Then  I  remembered  my  mother.  If  you 
had  remembered  her  perhaps  you  would  have  guarded 
the  gift  of  my  love  and  not  have  trampled  it  under 
your  feet  —  I  remembered  my  mother,  and  so  I  live 
still. 

"  I  must  go  on  alone,  with  naught  of  what  makes 
life  bearable ;  you  will  keep  climbing  higher  by  your 
vanity,  your  strength,  and  your  deceit.  But  yet  I 
know  however  high  you  climb  you  will  never  find 
peace.  You  will  remember  me,  and  your  spirit  will 
seek  in  vain  for  rest.  You  will  not  exist  for  me,  you 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG      293 

will  not  be  even  a  memory ;  but  though  against  your 
will  I  shall  always  be  part  of  you  :  of  your  brain,  of 
your  heart,  of  your  soul  —  the  thought  of  me  your 
torment  in  your  greatest  hour.  Your  passion  and 
your  cowardice  have  lost  me  all ;  and  God  will  punish 
you,  be  sure  of  that. 

"There  is  little  more  to  say.  If  it  lies  in  my 
power  I  shall  never  see  you  again  while  I  live.  And 
you  will  not  wish  it.  Yes,  in  spite  of  your  eloquent 
letter  lying  here  beside  me,  you  do  not  wish  it,  and 
it  shall  not  be.  I  am  not  your  wife  save  by  the  law  ; 
and  little  have  you  cared  for  law  !  Little,  too,  would 
the  law  help  you  in  this  now ;  for  which  you  will  re- 
joice. For  the  ease  of  your  mind  I  hasten  to  tell  you 
why. 

"  First  let  me  inform  you  that  none  in  this  land 
knows  me  to  be  your  wife.  Your  letter  to  my  grand- 
father never  reached  him,  and  to  this  hour  I  have  held 
my  peace.  The  clergyman  who  married  us  is  a  pri- 
soner among  the  French,  and  the  strong-box  which 
held  the  register  of  St.  Michael's  Church  was  stolen. 
The  one  other  witness,  Mr.  Shoreham,  your  lieutenant 
—  as  you  tell  me  —  went  down  with  the  Araminta. 
So  you  are  safe  in  your  denial  of  me.  For  me,  I 
would  endure  all  the  tortures  of  the  world  rather  than 
call  you  husband  ever  again.  I  am  firmly  set  to  live 
my  own  life,  in  my  own  way,  with  what  strength  God 
gives.  At  last  I  see  beyond  the  Hedge. 

"  Your  course  is  clear.  You  cannot  turn  back 
now.  You  have  gone  too  far.  Your  new  honors 
and  titles  were  got  at  the  last  by  a  falsehood.  To 
acknowledge  it  would  be  ruin,  for  all  the  world  knows 
that  Captain  Philip  d'Avranche  of  the  King's  navy  is 
now  the  adopted  son  of  the  Due  de  Bercy.  Surely 


294  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

the  house  of  Bercy  has  cause  for  joy,  with  an  imbecile 
for  the  first  in  succession  and  a  traitor  for  the  second  ! 

"  I  return  the  fifty  pounds  you  sent  me  —  you  will 
not  question  why.  .  .  .  And  so  all  ends.  This  is  a 
last  farewell  between  us. 

"  Do  you  remember  what  you  said  to  me  on  the 
Ecr^hos  ?  — 

"  '  If  ever  I  deceive  you,  may  I  die  a  black,  dishon- 
orable death,  abandoned  and  alone.  I  should  deserve 
that  if  ever  I  deceived  you,  Guida? 

"  Will  you  ever  think  of  that,  in  your  vain  glory 
hereafter  ? 

"GuiDA  LANDRESSE  DE  LANDRESSE." 


BOOK   IV 

[IN  JERSEY  FIVE    YEARS  LATER} 
CHAPTER    XXIX 

ON  a  map  the  Isle  of  Jersey  has  the  shape  and 
form  of  a  tiger  on  the  prowl. 

The  fore-claws  of  this  tiger  are  the  lacerating  pin- 
nacles of  the  Corbiere  and  the  impaling  rocks  of 
Portelet  Bay  and  Noirmont ;  the  hind-claws  are  the 
devastating  diorite  reefs  of  La  Motte  and  the  Bane 
des  Violets.  The  head  and  neck,  terrible  and  beauti- 
ful, are  stretched  out  towards  the  west,  as  it  were  to 
scan  the  wild  waste  and  jungle  of  the  Atlantic  seas. 
The  nose  is  L'Etacq,  the  forehead  Grosnez,  the  ear 
Plemont,  the  mouth  the  dark  cavern  by  L'Etacq,  and 
the  teeth  are  the  serried  ledges  of  true  Foret  de  la 
Brequette.  At  a  discreet  distance  from  the  head  and 
the  tail  hover  the  jackals  of  La  Manche :  the  Pater- 
nosters, the  Dirouflles,  and  the  Ecrehos,  themselves 
destroying  where  they  may,  or  niching  the  remains  of 
the  tiger's  feast  of  shipwreck  and  ruin.  In  truth,  the 
sleek  beast,  with  its  feet  planted  in  fearsome  rocks 
and  tides,  and  its  ravening  head  set  to  defy  the 
onslaught  of  the  main,  might,  but  for  its  ensnaring 
beauty,  seem  some  monstrous  footpad  of  the  deep. 

To  this  day  the  tiger's  head  is  the  lonely  part  of 
Jersey ;  a  hundred  years  ago  it  was  as  distant  from 


296  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

the  Vier  March!  as  is  Penzance  from  Covent  Garden. 
It  would  almost  seem  as  if  the  people  of  Jersey,  like 
the  hangers-on  of  the  king  of  the  jungle,  care  not  to 
approach  too  near  the  devourer's  head.  Even  now 
there  is  but  a  dwelling  here  and  there  upon  the  lofty 
plateau,  and  none  at  all  near  the  dark  and  menacing 
headland.  But  as  if  the  ancient  Royal  Court  was 
determined  to  prove  its  sovereignty  even  over  the 
tiger's  head,  it  stretched  out  its  arms  from  the  Vier 
Marchi  to  the  bare  neck  of  the  beast,  putting  upon  it 
a  belt  of  defensive  war ;  at  the  nape,  a  martello  tower 
and  barracks  ;  underneath,  two  other  martello  towers 
like  the  teeth  of  a  buckle. 

The  rest  of  the  Island  was  bristling  with  armament. 
Tall  platforms  were  erected  at  almost  speaking  dis- 
tance from  each  other,  where  sentinels  kept  watch  for 
French  frigates  or  privateers.  Redoubts  and  towers 
were  within  musket-shot  of  each  other,  with  watch- 
houses  between,  and  at  intervals  every  able-bodied 
man  in  the  country  was  obliged  to  leave  his  trade  to 
act  as  sentinel,  or  go  into  camp  or  barracks  with  the 
militia  for  months  at  a  time.  British  cruisers  sailed 
the  Channel :  now  a  squadron  under  Barrington,  again 
under  Bridport,  hovered  upon  the  coast,  hoping  that  a 
French  fleet  might  venture  near. 

But  little  of  this  was  to  be  seen  in  the  western 
limits  of  the  parish  of  St.  Ouen's.  Plemont,  Grosnez, 
L'Etacq,  all  that  giant  headland  could  well  take  care 
of  itself  —  the  precipitous  cliffs  were  their  own  defense. 
A  watch-house  here  and  there  sufficed.  No  one  lived 
at  L'Etacq,  no  one  at  Grosnez;  they  were  too  bleak, 
loo  distant,  and  solitary.  There  were  no  houses,  no 
huts. 

If  you  had  approached  Plemont  from  Vinchelez-le- 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  297 

Haut,  making  for  the  sea,  you  would  have  said  that  it 
also  had  no  habitation.  But  when  at  last  you  came 
to  a  hillock  near  Plemont  Point,  looking  to  find  nothing 
but  sky  and  sea  and  distant  islands,  suddenly  at  your 
very  feet  you  saw  a  small  stone  dwelling.  Its  door 
faced  the  west,  looking  towards  the  Isles  of  Guernsey 
and  Sark.  Fronting  the  north  was  a  window  like  an 
eye,  ever  watching  the  tireless  Paternosters.  To  the 
east  was  another  tiny  window  like  a  deep  loophole  or 
embrasure  set  towards  the  Diroui'lles  and  the  Ecre"- 
hos. 

The  hut  had  but  one  room,  of  moderate  size,  with  a 
vast  chimney.  Between  the  chimney  and  the  western 
wall  was  a  veille,  which  was  both  lounge  and  bed. 
The  eastern  side  was  given  over  to  a  few  well-pol- 
ished kitchen  utensils,  a  churn,  and  a  bread-trough. 
The  floor  was  of  mother  earth  alone,  but  a  strip  of 
hand-made  carpet  was  laid  down  before  the  fireplace, 
and  there  was  another  at  the  opposite  end.  There 
were  also  a  table,  a  spinning-wheel,  and  a  shelf  of 
books. 

It  was  not  the  hut  of  a  fisherman,  though  upon  the 
wall  opposite  the  books  there  hung  fishing-tackle, 
nets,  and  cords,  while  outside,  on  staples  driven  in  the 
jutting  chimney,  were  some  lobster-pots.  Upon  two 
shelves  were  arranged  a  carpenter's  and  a  cooper's 
tools,  polished  and  in  good  order.  And  yet  you  would 
have  said  that  neither  a  cooper  nor  a  carpenter  kept 
them  in  use.  Everywhere  there  were  signs  of  man's 
handicraft  as  well  as  of  woman's  work,  but  upon  all 
was  the  touch  of  a  woman.  Moreover,  apart  from 
the  tools  there  was  no  sign  of  a  man's  presence  in  the 
hut.  There  was  no  coat  hanging  behind  the  door,  no 
sabots  for  the  fields  or  oilskins  for  the  sands,  no  pipe 


298     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

laid  upon  a  ledge,  no  fisherman's  needle  holding  a 
calendar  to  the  wall.  Whatever  was  the  trade  of  the 
occupant,  the  tastes  were  above  those  of  the  ordinary 
dweller  in  the  land.  That  was  to  be  seen  in  a  print 
of  Raphael's  "  Madonna  and  Child  "  taking  the  place 
of  the  usual  sampler  upon  the  walls  of  Jersey  homes  ; 
in  the  old  clock  nicely  bestowed  between  a  narrow 
cupboard  and  the  tool  shelves ;  in  a  few  pieces  of  rare 
old  china  and  a  gold-handled  sword  hanging  above  a 
huge,  well-carved  oak  chair.  The  chair  relieved  the 
room  of  anything  like  commonness,  and  somehow  was 
in  sympathy  with  the  simple  surroundings,  making 
for  dignity  and  sweet  quiet.  It  was  clear  that  only  a 
woman  could  have  arranged  so  perfectly  this  room 
and  all  therein.  It  was  also  clear  that  no  man  lived 
here. 

Looking  in  at  the  doorway  of  this  hut  on  a  certain 
autumn  day  of  the  year  1 797,  the  first  thing  to  strike 
your  attention  was  a  dog  lying  asleep  on  the  hearth. 
Then  a  suit  of  child's  clothes  on  a  chair  before  the 
fire  of  vraic  would  have  caught  the  eye.  The  only 
thing  to  distinguish  this  particular  child's  dress  from 
that  of  a  thousand  others  in  the  Island  was  the  fine- 
ness of  the  material.  Every  thread  of  it  had  been 
delicately  and  firmly  knitted,  till  it  was  like  perfect 
soft  blue  cloth,  relieved  by  a  little  red  silk  ribbon  at 
.the  collar. 

The  hut  contained  as  well  a  child's  chair,  just  so 
high  that  when  placed  by  the  windows  commanding 
the  Paternosters  its  occupant  might  see  the  waves, 
like  panthers,  beating  white  paws  against  the  ragged 
granite  pinnacles ;  the  currents  writhing  below  at  the 
foot  of  the  cliffs,  or  at  half-tide  rushing  up  to  cover 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     299 

the  sands  of  the  Greve  aux  Larsons,  and,  like  animals 
in  pain,  howling  through  the  caverns  in  the  cliffs ;  the 
great  nor'-wester  of  November  come  battering  the 
rocks,  shrieking  to  the  witches  who  boiled  their  cal- 
drons by  the  ruins  of  Grosnez  Castle  that  the  hunt  of 
the  seas  was  up.  Just  high  enough  was  the  little 
chair  that  of  a  certain  day  in  the  year  its  owner  might 
look  out  and  see  mystic  fires  burning  round  the  Pater- 
nosters, and  lighting  up  the  sea  with  awful  radiance. 
Scarce  a  rock  to  be  seen  from  the  hut  but  had  some 
legend  like  this :  the  burning  Russian  ship  at  the 
Paternosters,  the  fleet  of  boats  with  tall  prows  and 
long  oars  drifting  upon  the  Diroui'lles  and  going  down 
to  the  cry  of  the  Crusaders'  Dahin !  dahin !  the 
Roche  des  Femmes  at  the  Ecrehos,  where  still  you 
may  hear  the  cries  of  women  in  terror  of  the  engulf- 
ing sea. 

On  this  particular  day,  if  you  had  entered  the  hut, 
no  one  would  have  welcomed  you  ;  but  had  you  tired 
of  waiting,  and  followed  the  indentations  of  the  coast 
for  a  mile  or  more  by  a  deep  bay  under  tall  cliffs, 
you  would  have  seen  a  woman  and  a  child  coming 
quickly  up  the  sands.  Slung  upon  the  woman's 
shoulders  was  a  small  fisherman's  basket.  The  child 
ran  before,  eager  to  climb  the  hill  and  take  the 
homeward  path. 

A  man  above  was  watching  them.  He  had  ridden 
along  the  cliff,  had  seen  the  woman  in  her  boat 
making  for  the  shore,  had  tethered  his  horse  in  the 
quarries  near  by,  and  now  awaited  her.  He  chuckled 
as  she  came  on,  for  he  had  ready  a  surprise  for  her. 
To  make  it  more  complete  he  hid  himself  behind  some 
boulders,  and  as  she  reached  the  top  sprang  out  with 
an  ugly  grinning. 


300  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

The  woman  looked  at  him  calmly  and  waited  for 
him  to  speak.  There  was  no  fear  on  her  face,  not 
even  surprise  ;  nothing  but  steady  inquiry  and  quiet 
self-possession.  With  an  air  of  bluster  the  man  said  : 

"  Aha,  my  lady,  I  'm  nearer  than  you  thought  — 
me  !" 

The  child  drew  in  to  its  mother's  side  and  clasped 
her  hand.  There  was  no  fear  in  the  little  fellow's 
look,  however ;  he  had  something  of  the  same  self- 
possession  as  the  woman,  and  his  eyes  were  like  hers, 
clear,  unwavering,  and  with  a  frankness  that  con- 
sumed you.  They  were  wells  of  sincerity ;  open-eyed, 
you  would  have  called  the  child,  wanting  a  more 
subtle  description. 

"  I  'm  not  to  be  fooled  —  me  !  Come  now,  let 's  have 
the  count,"  said  the  man,  as  he  whipped  a  greasy 
leather-covered  book  from  his  pocket.  "  Sapristi, 
I  'm  waiting.  Stay  yourself  !  "  he  added  roughly  as 
she  moved  on,  and  his  grayish-yellow  face  had  an 
evil  joy  at  thought  of  the  brutal  work  in  hand. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  she  asked,  but  taking  her  time  to 
speak. 

"  Dame  !  you  know  who  I  am." 

"  I  know  what  you  are,"  she  answered  quietly. 

He  did  not  quite  grasp  her  meaning,  but  the  tone 
sounded  contemptuous,  and  that  sorted  little  with  his 
self-importance. 

"  I  'm  the  Seigneur's  bailiff  —  that  's  who  I  am. 
Gad'rabotin,  don't  you  put  on  airs  with  me  !  I  'm  for 
the  tribute,  so  off  with  the  bag  and  let 's  see  your 
catch  !  " 

"  I  have  never  yet  paid  tribute  to  the  seigneur  of 
the  manor." 

"  Well,  you  '11  begin  now.     I  'm  the  new  bailiff,  and 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  301 

if  you  don't  pay  your  tale,  up  you  come  to  the  court 
of  the  fief  to-morrow." 

She  looked  him  clearly  in  the  eyes.  "  If  I  were 
a  man,  I  should  not  pay  the  tribute,  and  I  should 
go  to  the  court  of  the  fief  to-morrow,  but  being  a 
woman  "  — 

She  clasped  the  hand  of  the  child  tightly  to  her  for 
an  instant,  then  with  a  sigh  she  took  the  basket  from 
her  shoulders  and,  opening  it,  added  :  — 

"  But  being  a  woman,  the  fish  I  caught  in  the  sea 
that  belongs  to  God  and  to  all  men  I  must  divide  with 
the  Seigneur  whose  bailiff  spies  on  poor  fisher-folk." 

The  man  growled  an  oath  and  made  a  motion  as 
though  he  would  catch  her  by  the  shoulder  in  anger, 
but  the  look  in  her  eyes  stopped  him.  Counting  out 
the  fish,  and  giving  him  three  out  of  the  eight  she 
had  caught,  she  said  :  — 

"  It  matters  not  so  much  to  me,  but  there  are  others 
poorer  than  I;  they  suffer." 

With  a  leer  the  fellow  stooped,  and,  taking  up  the 
fish,  put  them  in  the  pockets  of  his  queminzolle,  all 
slimy  from  the  sea  as  they  were. 

"  Ba  su,  you  have  n't  got  much  to  take  care  of,  have 
you  ?  It  don't  take  much  to  feed  two  mouths  —  not 
so  much  as  it  does  three,  Mdmselle  !  " 

Before  he  had  ended,  the  woman,  without  reply 
to  the  insult,  took  the  child  by  the  hand  and  moved 
along  her  homeward  path  towards  Plemont. 

"  A  bi'tot,  good-by !  "  the  bailiff  laughed  brutally. 
Standing  with  his  legs  apart  and  his  hands  fastened 
on  the  fish  in  the  pockets  of  his  long  queminzolle,  he 
called  after  her  in  sneering  comment :  "  Ma  fistre ! 
your  pride  did  n't  fall  — ba  su  ! "  Then  he  turned  on 
his  heel. 


302  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

" Eh  ben,  here's  mackerel  for  supper,"  he  added  as 
he  mounted  his  horse. 

The  woman  was  Guida  Landresse,  the  child  was 
her  child,  and  they  lived  in  the  little  house  upon  the 
cliff  at  Plemont.  They  were  hastening  thither  now. 


CHAPTER    XXX 

A  VISITOR  was  awaiting  Guida  and  the  child  :  a 
£\.  man  who  first  knocking  at  the  door,  then  look- 
ing in  and  seeing  the  room  empty,  save  for  the  dog 
lying  asleep  by  the  fire,  had  turned  slowly  away,  and 
going  to  the  cliff  edge,  looked  out  over  the  sea.  His 
movements  were  deliberate,  his  body  moved  slowly ; 
the  whole  appearance  was  of  great  strength  and  nerv- 
ous power.  The  face  was  preoccupied,  the  eyes  were 
watchful,  dark,  penetrating.  They  seemed  not  only 
to  watch  but  to  weigh,  to  meditate,  even  to  listen  — 
as  it  were,  to  do  the  duty  of  all  the  senses  at  once. 
In  them  worked  the  whole  forces  of  his  nature ;  they 
were  crucibles  wherein  every  thought  and  emotion 
were  fused.  The  jaw  was  set  and  strong,  yet  it  was 
not  hard.  The  face  contradicted  itself.  While  not 
gloomy  it  had  lines  like  scars  telling  of  past  wounds. 
It  was  not  despairing,  it  was  not  morbid,  and  it  was 
not  resentful ;  it  had  the  look  of  one  both  credulous 
and  indomitable.  Belief  was  stamped  upon  it ;  not 
expectation  or  ambition,  but  faith  and  fidelity.  You 
would  have  said  he  was  a  man  of  one  set  idea,  though 
the  head  had  a  breadth  sorting  little  with  narrowness 
of  purpose.  The  body  was  too  healthy  to  belong  to 
a  fanatic,  too  powerful  to  be  that  of  a  dreamer  alone, 
too  firm  for  other  than  a  man  of  action. 

Several  times  he  turned  to  look  towards  the  house 
and  up  the  pathway  leading  from  the  hillock  to  the 


304  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

doorway.  Though  he  waited  long  he  did  not  seem 
impatient  ;  patience  was  part  of  him,  and  not  the  least 
part.  At  last  he  sat  down  on  a  boulder  between  the 
house  and  the  shore,  and  scarcely  moved,  as  minute 
after  minute  passed,  and  then  an  hour  and  more,  and 
no  one  came.  Presently  there  was  a  soft  footstep 
beside  him,  and  he  turned.  A  dog's  nose  thrust  itself 
into  his  hand. 

"  Biribi,  Biribi !  "  he  said,  patting  its  head  with  his 
big  hand.  "  Watching  and  waiting,  eh,  old  Biribi  ?  " 
The  dog  looked  into  his  eyes  as  if  he  knew  what  was 
said,  and  would  speak  —  or,  indeed,  was  speaking  in 
his  own  language.  "  That 's  the  way  of  life,  Biribi  — 
watching  and  waiting,  and  watching  —  always  watch- 
ing." Suddenly  the  dog  caught  its  head  away  from 
his  hand,  gave  a  short  joyful  bark,  and  ran  slowly  up 
the  hillock. 

"  Guida  and  the  child,"  the  man  said  aloud,  moving 
towards  the  house  —  "  Guida  and  the  child  !  " 

He  saw  her  and  the  little  one  before  they  saw  him. 
Presently  the  child  said,  "  See,  maman  !  "  and  pointed. 

Guida  started.  A  swift  flush  passed  over  her  face, 
then  she  smiled  and  made  a  step  forward  to  meet  her 
visitor. 

"  Maitre  Ranulph  —  Ranulph  !  "  she  said,  holding 
out  her  hand.  "  It 's  a  long  time  since  we  met." 

"A  year,"  he  answered  simply,  "just  a  year."  He 
looked  down  at  the  child,  then  stooped,  caught  him 
up  in  his  arms  and  said,  "  He  's  grown.  Es-tu  genti- 
ment  ?  "  he  added  to  the  child  —  "  es-tu  gentiment, 
m'sieu'  ? " 

The  child  did  not  quite  understand.  "  Please  ?  "  it 
said  in  true  Jersey  fashion  —  at  which  the  mother 
was  troubled. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  305 

"  O  Guilbert,  is  that  what  you  should  say  ?  "  she 
asked. 

The  child  looked  up  quaintly  at  her,  and  with  the 
same  whimsical  smile  which  Guida  had  given  to  an- 
other so  many  years  ago,  he  looked  at  Ranulph  and 
said,  "Pardon,  monsieur?" 

"  Coum  est  qu'on  etes,  m'sieu'  ?  "  said  Ranulph  in 
another  patois  greeting. 

Guida  shook  her  head  reprovingly.  The  child 
glanced  swiftly  at  his  mother  as  though  asking  per- 
mission to  reply  as  he  wished,  then  back  at  Ranulph, 
and  was  about  to  speak,  when  Guida  said :  "  I  have 
not  taught  him  the  Jersey  patois,  Ranulph ;  only 
English  and  French." 

Her  eyes  met  his  clearly,  meaningly.  Her  look 
said  to  him  as  plainly  as  words,  The  child's  destiny  is 
not  here  in  Jersey.  But  as  if  he  knew  that  in  this 
she  was  blinding  herself,  and  that  no  one  can  escape 
the  influences  of  surroundings,  he  held  the  child  back 
from  him,  and  said  with  a  smile  :  "  Coum  est  qu'on 
vos  portest  ?  " 

Now  the  child  with  elfish  sense  of  the  situation  re- 
plied in  Jersey  English,  "  Naicely,  thenk  you  !  " 

"  You  see,"  said  Ranulph  to  Guida,  "  there  are 
things  in  us  stronger  than  we  are.  The  wind,  the 
sea  and  people  we  live  with,  they  make  us  sing  their 
song  one  way  or  another.  It 's  in  our  bones." 

A  look  of  pain  passed  over  Guida' s  face,  and  she 
did  not  reply  to  his  remark,  but  turned  almost  ab- 
ruptly to  the  doorway,  saying,  with  just  the  slightest 
hesitation,  '•'  You  will  come  in  ?  " 

There  was  no  hesitation  on  his  part.  "  Oui-gia  !  " 
he  said,  and  stepped  inside. 

She  hastily  hung  up  the  child's  cap  and  her  own, 


306  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

and  as  she  gathered  in  the  soft,  waving  hair,  Ranulph 
noticed  how  the  years  had  only  burnished  it  more 
deeply  and  strengthened  the  beauty  of  the  head. 
She  had  made  the  gesture  unconsciously,  but  catch- 
ing the  look  in  his  eye  a  sudden  thrill  of  anxiety  ran 
through  her.  Recovering  herself,  however,  and  with 
an  air  of  bright  friendliness,  she  laid  a  hand  upon  the 
great  armchair,  above  which  hung  the  ancient  sword 
of  her  ancestor,  the  Comte  Guilbert  Mauprat  de 
Chambery,  and  said  :  "  Sit  here,  Ranulph." 

Seating  himself  he  gave  a  heavy  sigh  — one  of  those 
passing  breaths  of  content  which  come  to  the  hardest 
lives  now  and  then  :  as  though  the  Spirit  of  Life  itself, 
in  ironical  apology  for  human  existence,  gives  mo- 
ments of  respite  from  which  hope  is  born  again.  Not 
for  over  four  long  years  had  Ranulph  sat  thus  quietly 
in  the  presence  of  Guida.  At  first,  when  Maitresse 
Aimable  had  told  him  that  Guida  was  leaving  the 
Place  du  Vier  Prison  to  live  in  this  lonely  place  with 
her  new-born  child,  he  had  gone  to  entreat  her  to 
remain ;  but  Maitresse  Aimable  had  been  present 
then,  and  all  that  he  could  say  —  all  that  he  might 
speak  out  of  his  friendship,  out  of  the  old  love,  now 
deep  pity  and  sorrow  —  was  of  no  avail.  It  had  been 
borne  in  upon  him  then  that  she  was  not  morbid,  but 
that  her  mind  had  a  sane,  fixed  purpose  which  she 
was  intent  to  fulfill.  It  was  as  though  she  had  made 
some  strange  covenant  with  a  little  helpless  life,  with 
a  little  face  that  was  all  her  face ;  and  that  covenant 
she  would  keep. 

So  he  had  left  her,  and  so  to  do  her  -service  had 
been  granted  elsewhere.  The  Chevalier,  with  perfect 
wisdom  and  nobility,  insisted  on  being  to  Guida  what 
he  had  always  been,  accepting  what  was  as  though  it 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  307 

had  always  been,  and  speaking  as  naturally  of  her  and 
the  child  as  though  there  had  always  been  a  Guida 
and  the  child.  Thus  it  was  that  he  counted  himself 
her  protector,  though  he  sat  far  away  in  the  upper 
room  of  Elie  Mattingley's  house  in  the  Rued'Egypte, 
thinking  his  own  thoughts,  biding  the  time  when  she 
should  come  back  to  the  world,  and  mystery  be  over, 
and  happiness  come  once  more  ;  hoping  only  that  he 
might  live  to  see  it. 

Under  his  directions,  Jean  Touzel  had  removed  the 
few  things  that  Guida  took  with  her  to  Plemont ;  and 
instructed  by  him,  Elie  Mattingley  sold  her  furniture. 
Thus  Guida  had  settled  at  Plemont,  and  there  over 
four  years  of  her  life  were  passed. 

"Your  father  —  how  is  he  ?  "  she  asked  presently. 

"  Feeble,"  replied  Ranulph  ;  "  he  goes  abroad  but 
little  now." 

"  It  was  said  the  Royal  Court  was  to  make  him  a 
gift,  in  remembrance  of  the  Battle  of  Jersey." 

Ranulph  turned  his  head  away  from  her  to  the 
child,  and  beckoned  him  over.  The  child  came  in- 
stantly. As  Ranulph  lifted  him  on  his  knee  he 
answered  Guida  :  "  My  father  did  not  take  it." 

"  Then  they  said  you  were  to  be  Connetable  —  the 
grand  monsieur  !  "  She  smiled  at  him  in  a  friendly 
way. 

"  They  said  wrong,"  replied  Ranulph. 

"Most  people  would  be  glad  of  it,"  rejoined  Guida. 
"  My  mother  used  to  say  you  would  be  Bailly  one 
day." 

"  Who  knows  —  perhaps  I  might  have  been  !  " 

She  looked  at  him  half  sadly,  half  curiously. 
"  You  —  you  have  n't  any  ambitions  now,  Maitre 
Ranulph  ? " 


308     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

It  suddenly  struck  her  that  perhaps  she  was  respon- 
sible for  the  maiming  of  this  man's  life  —  for  clearly 
it  was  maimed.  More  than  once  she  had  thought 
of  it,  but  it  came  home  to  her  to-day  with  force. 
Years  ago  Ranulph  Delagarde  had  been  spoken  of  as 
one  who  might  do  great  things,  even  to  becoming 
Bailly.  In  the  eyes  of  a  Jerseyman  to  be  Bailly  was 
to  be  great,  with  jurats  sitting  in  a  row  on  either  side 
of  him  and  more  important  than  any  judge  in  the 
Kingdom.  Looking  back  now  Guida  realized  that 
Ranulph  had  never  been  the  same  since  that  day  on 
the  Ecrehos  when  his  father  had  returned  and  Philip 
had  told  his  wild  tale  of  love. 

A  great  bitterness  suddenly  welled  up  in  her. 
Without  intention,  without  blame,  she  had  brought 
suffering  upon  others.  The  untoward  happenings  of 
her  life  had  killed  her  grandfather,  had  bowed  and 
aged  the  old  Chevalier,  had  forced  her  to  reject  the 
friendship  of  Carterette  Mattingley,  for  the  girl's 
own  sake ;  had  made  the  heart  of  one  fat  old  woman 
heavy  within  her  ;  and,  it  would  seem,  had  taken  hope 
and  ambition  from  the  life  of  this  man  before  her. 
Love  in  itself  is  but  a  bitter  pleasure ;  when  it  is 
given  to  the  unworthy  it  becomes  a  torture — and  so 
far  as  Ranulph  and  the  world  knew  she  was  wholly 
unworthy.  Of  late  she  had  sometimes  wondered  if, 
after  all,  she  had  had  the  right  to  do  as  she  had  done 
in  accepting  the  public  shame,  and  in  not  proclaiming 
the  truth  :  if  to  act  for  one's  own  heart,  feelings,  and 
life  alone,  no  matter  how  perfect  the  honesty,  is  not 
a  sort  of  noble  cruelty,  or  cruel  nobility  ;  an  egotism 
which  obeys  but  its  own  commandments,  finding  its 
own  straight  and  narrow  path  by  first  disbarring  the 
feelings  and  lives  of  others.  Had  she  done  what  was 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     309 

best  for  the  child  ?  Misgiving  upon  this  point  made 
her  heart  ache  bitterly.  Was  life  then  but  a  series  of 
trist  condonings  at  the  best,  of  humiliating  compro- 
mises at  the  worst  ? 

She  repeated  her  question  to  Ranulph  now.  "  You 
have  n't  ambition  any  longer  ?  " 

"  I  'm  busy  building  ships,"  he  answered  evasively. 
"  I  build  good  ships,  they  tell  me,  and  I  am  strong 
and  healthy.  As  for  being  connetable,  I  'd  rather 
help  prisoners  free  than  hale  them  before  the  Royal 
Court.  For  somehow  when  you  get  at  the  bottom  of 
most  crimes  —  the  small  ones  leastways  —  you  find 
they  were  n't  quite  meant.  I  expect  —  I  expect,"  he 
added  gravely,  "  that  half  the  crimes  ought  n't  to  be 
punished  at  all ;  for  it 's  queer  that  things  which  hurt 
most  can't  be  punished  by  law." 

"  Perhaps  it  evens  up  in  the  long  end,"  answered 
Guida,  turning  away  from  him  to  the  fire,  and  feeling 
her  heart  beat  faster  as  she  saw  how  the  child  nestled 
in  Ranulph's  arms — her  child  which  had  no  father. 
"  You  see,"  she  added,  "  if  some  are  punished  who 
ought  n't  to  be,  there  are  others  who  ought  to  be 
that  are  n't,  and  the  worst  of  it  is,  we  care  so  little  for 
real  justice  that  we  often  wouldn't  punish  if  we 
could.  I  have  come  to  feel  that.  Sometimes  if  you 
do  exactly  what 's  right,  you  hurt  some  one  you  don't 
wish  to  hurt,  and  if  you  don't  do  exactly  what 's  right, 
perhaps  that  some  one  else  hurts  you.  So,  often,  we 
would  rather  be  hurt  than  hurt." 

With  the  last  words  she  turned  from  the  fire  and 
involuntarily  faced  him.  Their  eyes  met.  In  hers 
were  only  the  pity  of  life,  the  sadness,  the  cruelty  of 
misfortune,  and  friendliness  for  him.  In  his  eyes 
was  purpose  definite,  strong. 


310     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

He  went  over  and  put  the  child  in  its  high  chair. 
Then  coming  a  little  nearer  to  Guida,  he  said  :  — 

"There 's  only  one  thing  in  life  that  really  hurts  — 
playing  false." 

Her  heart  suddenly  stopped  beating.  What  was 
Ranulph  going  to  say  ?  After  all  these  years  was  he 
going  to  speak  of  Philip  ?  But  she  did  not  reply  ac- 
cording to  her  thought. 

"Have  people  played  false  in  your  life  —  ever?" 
she  asked. 

"  If  you  '11  listen  to  me  I  '11  tell  you  how,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"  Wait,  wait,"  she  said  in  trepidation.  "  It  —  it  has 
nothing  to  do  with  me  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "  It  has  only  to  do  with  my 
father  and  myself.  When  I  've  told  you,  then  you 
must  say  whether  you  will  have  anything  to  do  with 
it,  or  with  me.  .  .  .  You  remember,"  he  continued, 
without  waiting  for  her  to  speak,  "you  remember 
that  day  upon  the  Ecrelios  —  four  years  ago  ?  Well, 
that  day  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  tell  you  in  so 
many  words  what  I  hoped  you  had  always  known, 
Guida.  I  did  n't  —  why  ?  Not  because  of  another 
man  —  no,  no,  I  don't  mean  to  hurt  you,  but  I  must 
tell  you  the  truth  now  —  not  because  of  another  man, 
for  I  should  have  bided  my  chance  with  him." 

"  Ranulph,  Ranulph,"  she  broke  in,  "you  must  not 
speak  of  this  now !  Do  you  not  see  it  hurts  me  ?  It 
is  not  like  you.  It  is  not  right  of  you  " 

A  sudden  emotion  seized  him,  and  his  voice 
shook. 

"  Not  right !  You  should  know  that  I  'd  never  say 
one  word  to  hurt  you,  or  do  one  thing  to  wrong  you. 
But  I  must  speak  to-day  —  I  must  tell  you  everything. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  311 

I  've  thought  of  it  for  four  long  years,  and  I  know 
now  that  what  I  mean  to  do  is  right." 

She  sat  down  in  the  great  armchair.  A  sudden 
weakness  came  upon  her  :  she  was  being  brought  face 
to  face  with  days  of  which  she  had  never  allowed  her- 
self to  think,  for  she  lived  always  in  the  future  now. 

"  Go  on,"  she  said  helplessly.  "  What  have  you  to 
say,  Ranulph  ? " 

"  I  will  tell  you  why  I  did  n't  speak  of  my  love  to 
you  that  day  we  went  to  the  Ecrehos.  My  father 
came  back  that  day." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  said  ;  "  of  course  you  had  to  think 
of  him." 

"  Yes,  I  had  to  think  of  him,  but  not  in  the  way 
you  mean.  Be  patient  a  little  while,"  he  added. 

Then  in  a  few  words  he  told  her  the  whole  story 
of  his  father's  treachery  and  crime,  from  the  night 
before  the  Battle  of  Jersey  up  to  their  meeting  again 
upon  the  Ecrehos. 

Guida  was  amazed  and  moved.  Her  heart  filled 
with  pity.  "Ranulph  —  poor  Ranulph!"  she  said, 
half  rising  in  her  seat. 

"  No,  no  — wait,"  he  rejoined.  "  Sit  where  you  are 
till  I  tell  you  all.  Guida,  you  don't  know  what  a  life 
it  has  been  for  me  these  four  years.  I  used  to  be 
able  to  look  every  man  in  the  face  without  caring 
whether  he  liked  me  or  hated  me,  for  then  I  had 
never  lied,  I  had  never  done  a  mean  thing  to  any 
man  ;  I  had  never  deceived  —  nannin-gia,  never !  But 
when  my  father  came  back,  then  I  had  to  play  a  false 
game.  He  had  lied,  and  to  save  him  I  either  had  to 
hold  my  peace  or  tell  his  story.  Speaking  was  lying 
or  being  silent  was  lying.  Mind  you,  I  'm  not  com- 
plaining, I  'm  not  saying  it  because  I  want  any  pity. 


312     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

No,  I  'm  saying  it  because  it 's  the  truth,  and  I  want 
you  to  know  the  truth.  You  understand  what  it 
means  to  feel  right  in  your  own  mind  —  if  you  feel 
that  way,  the  rest  of  life  is  easy.  Eh  ben,  what  a 
thing  it  is  to  get  up  in  the  morning,  build  your  fire, 
make  your  breakfast,  and  sit  down  facing  a  man 
whose  whole  life  's  a  lie,  and  that  man  your  own  fa- 
ther !  Some  morning  perhaps  you  forget,  and  you  go 
out  into  the  sun,  and  it  all  seems  good  ;  and  you  take 
your  tools  and  go  to  work,  and  the  sea  comes  washing 
up  the  shingle,  and  you  think  that  the  shir-r-r-r  of  the 
water  on  the  pebbles  and  the  singing  of  the  saw  and 
the  clang  of  the  hammer  are  the  best  music  in  the 
world.  But  all  at  once  you  remember  !  —  And  then 
you  work  harder,  not  because  you  love  work  now  for 
its  own  sake,  but  because  it  uses  up  your  misery  and 
makes  you  tired  ;  and  being  tired  you  can  sleep,  and 
in  sleep  you  can  forget.  Yet  nearly  all  the  time 
you  're  awake  it  fairly  kills  you,  for  you  feel  some  one 
always  at  your  elbow  whispering,  '  You  '11  never  be 
happy  again,  you  '11  never  be  happy  again ! '  And 
when  you  tell  the  truth  about  anything,  that  some 
one  at  your  elbow  laughs  and  says,  '  Nobody  believes 
—  your  whole  life 's  a  lie  ! '  And  if  the  worst  man  you 
know  passes  you  by,  that  some  one  at  your  elbow 
says,  '  You  can  wear  a  mask,  but  you  're  no  better 
than  he,  no  better,  no  '  "  — 

While  Ranulph  spoke  Guida's  face  showed  a  pity 
and  a  kindness  as  deep  as  the  sorrow  which  had  deep- 
ened her  nature.  She  shook  her  head  once  or  twice 
as  though  to  say,  Surely,  what  suffering !  and  now 
this  seemed  to  strike  Ranulph,  to  convict  him  of  self- 
ishness, for  he  suddenly  stopped.  His  face  cleared, 
and,  smiling  with  a  little  of  his  old-time  cheerfulness, 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     313 

he  said :  "  Yet  one  gets  used  to  it  and  works  on  be- 
cause one  knows  it  will  all  come  right  some  time.  I  'm 
of  the  kind  that  waits." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  her  old  wide-eyed  stead- 
fastness and  replied :  "  You  are  a  good  man,  Ra- 
nulph." 

He  stood  gazing  at  her  a  moment  without  remark, 
then  he  said  :  — 

"No,  ba  su,  no!  but  it's  like  you  to  say  I  am," 
Then  he  added  suddenly,  "  I  've  told  you  the  whole 
truth  about  myself  and  about  my  father.  He  did  a 
bad  thing  and  I  've  stood  by  him.  At  first,  I  nursed 
my  troubles  and  my  shame.  I  used  to  think  I  could  n't 
live  it  out,  that  I  had  no  right  to  any  happiness.  But 
I  Ve  changed  my  mind  about  that  —  oui-gia  !  As  I 
hammered  away  at  my  ships  month  in  month  out, 
year  in  year  out,  the  truth  came  home  to  me  at  last. 
What  right  had  I  to  sit  down  and  brood  over  my 
miseries  ?  I  did  n't  love  my  father,  but  I  've  done 
wrong  for  him,  and  I  've  stuck  to  him.  Well,  I  did 
love  —  and  I  do  love  —  some  one  else,  and  I  should 
only  be  doing  right  to  tell  her,  and  to  ask  her  to  let 
me  stand  with  her  against  the  world." 

He  was  looking  down  at  her  with  all  his  story  in 
his  face.  She  put  out  her  hand  quickly  as  if  in  pro- 
test and  said :  — 

"  Ranulph  —  ah  no,  Ranulph  " 

"  But  yes,  Guida,"  he  replied  with  stubborn  tender- 
ness, "it  is  you  I  mean  —  it  is  you  I  've  always  meant. 
You  have  always  been  a  hundred  times  more  to  me 
than  my  father,  but  I  let  you  fight  your  fight  alone. 
I  've  waked  up  now  to  my  mistake.  But  I  tell  you 
true  that  though  I  love  you  better  than  anything  in 
the  world,  if  things  had  gone  well  with  you  I  'd  never 


314  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

have  come  to  you.  I  never  came,  because  of  my 
father,  and  I  'd  never  have  come  because  you  are  too 
far  above  me  always  —  too  fine,  too  noble  for  me.  I 
only  come  now  because  we  're  both  apart  from  the 
world  and  lonely  beyond  telling  ;  because  we  need 
each  other.  I  have  just  one  thing  to  say :  that  we 
two  should  stand  together.  There  's  none  ever  can 
be  so  near  as  those  that  have  had  hard  troubles,  that 
have  had  bitter  wrongs.  And  when  there  's  love,  too, 
what  can  break  the  bond !  You  and  I  are  apart  from 
the  world,  a  black  loneliness  no  one  understands.  Let 
us  be  lonely  no  longer.  Let  us  live  our  lives  together. 
What  shall  we  care  for  the  rest  of  the  world  if  we 
know  we  mean  to  do  good  and  no  wrong  ?  So  I  Ve 
come  to  ask  you  to  let  me  care  for  you  and  the  child, 
to  ask  you  to  make  my  home  your  home.  My  father 
has  n't  long  to  live,  and  when  he  is  gone  we  could 
leave  this  island  forever.  Will  you  come,  Guida  ? " 

She  had  never  taken  her  eyes  from  his  face,  and  as 
his  story  grew  her  face  lighted  with  emotion,  the.  glow 
of  a  moment's  content,  of  a  fleeting  joy.  In  spite  of 
all,  this  man  loved  her,  he  wanted  to  marry  her  —  in 
spite  of  all.  Glad  to  know  that  such  men  lived,  and 
with  how  dark  memories  contrasting  with  this  bright 
experience !  —  she  said  to  him  once  again,  "  You  are 
a  good  man,  Ranulph." 

Coming  near  to  her,  he  said  in  a  voice  husky  with 
feeling,  "  Will  you  be  my  wife,  Guida  ?  " 

She  stood  up,  one  hand  resting  on  the  arm  of  the 
great  chair,  the  other  half  held  out  in  pitying  depreca- 
tion. 

"  No,  Ranulph,  no  ;  I  can  never,  never  be  your  wife 
—  never  in  this  world." 

For  an  instant  he  looked  at  her  dumfounded,  then 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  315 

turned  away  to  the  fireplace  slowly  and  heavily.  "  I 
suppose  it  was  too  much  to  hope  for,"  he  said  bitterly. 
He  realized  now  how  much  she  was  above  him,  even 
in  her  sorrow  and  shame. 

"  You  forget,"  she  answered  quietly,  and  her  hand 
went  out  suddenly  to  the  soft  curls  of  the  child,  "  you 
forget  what  the  world  says  about  me." 

There  was  a  kind  of  fierceness  in  his  look  as  he 
turned  to  her  again. 

"Me — I  have  always  forgotten  —  everything,"  he 
answered.  "  Have  you  thought  that  for  all  these 
years  I  've  believed  one  word  ?  Secours  d'la  vie  !  of 
what  use  is  faith,  what  use  to  trust,  if  you  thought  I 
believed  !  I  do  not  know  the  truth,  for  you  have  not 
told  me;  but  I  do  know,  as  I  know  I  have  a  heart  in 
me  —  I  do  know  that  there  never  was  any  wrong  in 
you.  It  is  you  who  forget,"  he  added  quickly  —  "  it 
is  you  who  forget.  I  tried  to  tell  you  all  this  before  ; 
three  years  ago  I  tried  to  tell  you.  You  stopped  me, 
you  would  not  listen.  Perhaps  you  've  thought  I  did 
not  know  what  has  happened  to  you  every  week, 
almost  every  day  of  your  life  ?  A  hundred  times  I 
have  walked  here  and  you  have  n't  seen  me  —  when 
you  were  asleep,  when  you  were  fishing,  when  you 
were  working  like  a  man  in  the  fields  and  the  garden ; 
you  who  ought  to  be  cared  for  by  a  man,  working  like 
a  slave  at  man's  work  !  But,  no,  no,  you  have  not 
thought  well  of  me,  or  you  would  have  known  that 
every  day  I  cared,  every  day  I  watched,  and  waited, 
and  hoped  —  and  believed  !  " 

She  came  to  him  slowly  where  he  stood,  his  great 
frame  trembling  with  his  passion  and  the  hurt  she  had 
given  him,  and  laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  she 
said  :  "  Your  faith  was  a  blind  one,  Ro.  I  was  either 


316     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

a  girl  who — who  deserved  nothing  of  the  world,  or  I 
was  a  wife.  I  had  no  husband,  had  I  ?  Then  I  must 
have  been  a  girl  who  deserved  nothing  of  the  world, 
or  of  you.  Your  faith  was  blind,  Ranulph,  you  see  it 
was  blind." 

"What  I  know  is  this,"  he  repeated  with  clogged 
persistence  —  "  what  I  know  is  this  :  that  whatever 
was  wrong,  there  was  no  wrong  in  you.  My  life  a 
hundred  times  on  that !  " 

She  smiled  at  him,  the  brightest  smile  that  had 
been  on  her  face  these  years  past,  and  she  answered 
softly  :  — 

" '  I  did  not  think  there  was  so  great  faith  —  no, 
not  in  Israel  ! ' '  Then  the  happiness  passed  from 
her  lips  to  her  eyes.  "  Your  faith  has  made  me 
happy,  Ro  —  I  am  selfish,  you  see.  Your  love  in 
itself  could  not  make  me  happy,  for  I  have  no  right  to 
listen,  because  "  — 

She  paused.  It  seemed  too  hard  to  say :  the  door 
of  her  heart  inclosing  her  secret  opened  so  slowly  — 
so  slowly.  A  struggle  was  going  on  in  her.  Every 
feeling,  every  force  of  her  nature  was  alive.  Once, 
twice,  thrice  she  tried  to  speak  and  could  not.  At 
last,  with  bursting  heart  and  eyes  swimming  with 
tears,  she  said  solemnly  :  — 

"  I  can  never  marry  you,  Ranulph,  and  I  have  no 
right  to  listen  to  your  words  of  love,  because  —  be- 
cause I  am  a  wife." 

Then  she  gave  a  great  sigh  of  relief;  like  some 
penitent  who  has  for  a  lifetime  hidden  a  sin  or  a  sor- 
row and  suddenly  finds  the  joy  of  a  confessional  which 
relieves  the  sick  heart,  takes  away  the  hand  of  loneli- 
ness that  clamps  it,  and  gives  it  freedom  again  ;  lifting 
the  poor  slave  from  the  rack  of  secrecy,  the  crudest 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  317 

inquisition  of  life  and  time.  She  repeated  the  words 
once  more,  a  little  louder,  a  little  clearer.  She  had 
vindicated  herself  to  God,  now  she  vindicated  herself 
to  man  —  though  to  but  one. 

"  I  can  never  marry  you  ;  because  I  am  a  wife,"  she 
said  again.  There  was  a  slight  pause,  and  then  the 
final  word  was  said:  "I  am  the  wife  of  Philip 
d'Avranche." 

Ranulph  did  not  speak.  He  stood  still  and  rigid, 
looking  with  eyes  that  scarcely  saw. 

"  I  had  not  intended  telling  any  one  until  the  time 
should  come," — once  more  her  hand  reached  out  and 
tremblingly  stroked  the  head  of  the  child,  —  "  but  your 
faith  has  forced  it  from  me.  I  could  n't  let  you  go 
from  me  now,  ignorant  of  the  truth  —  you  whose  trust 
is  beyond  telling.  Ranulph,  I  want  you  to  know  that 
I  am  at  least  no  worse  than  you  thought  me." 

The  look  in  his  face  was  one  of  triumph,  mingled 
with  despair,  hatred,  and  purpose  —  hatred  of  Philip 
d'Avranche,  and  purpose  concerning  him.  He  gloried 
now  in  knowing  that  Guida  might  take  her  place 
among  the  honest  women  of  this  world,  —  as  the 
world  terms  honesty,  —  but  he  had  received  the  death- 
blow to  his  every  hope.  He  had  lost  her  altogether 
—  he  who  had  watched  and  waited  ;  who  had  served 
and  followed,  in  season  and  out  of  season ;  who  had 
been  the  faithful  friend,  keeping  his  eye  fixed  only 
upon  her  happiness  ;  who  had  given  all  ;  who  had 
poured  out  his  heart  like  water,  and  his  life  like  wine 
before  her. 

At  first  he  only  grasped  the  fact  that  Philip 
d'Avranche  was  the  husband  of  the  woman  he  loved, 
and  that  she  had  been  abandoned.  Then  sudden 
remembrance  stunned  him  :  Philip  d'Avranche,  Due 


318     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

de  Bercy,  had  another  wife  !  He  remembered  —  it 
had  been  burned  into  his  brain  the  day  he  saw  it  first 
in  the  "  Gazette  de  Jersey  "  —  that  he  had  married 
the  Comtesse  Chantavoine,  niece  of  the  Marquis 
Grand]  on- Larisse,  upon  the  very  day,  and  but  an  hour 
before,  the  old  Due  de  Bercy  suddenly  died.  It  flashed 
across  his  mind  now  what  he  had  felt  then.  He  had 
always  believed  that  Philip  had  wronged  Guida ;  and 
long  ago  he  would  have  gone  in  search  of  him  —  gone 
to  try  the  strength  of  his  arm  against  this  cowardly 
marauder,  as  he  held  him  —  but  his  father's  ill-health 
had  kept  him  where  he  was,  and  Philip  was  at  sea 
upon  the  nation's  business.  So  the  years  had  gone 
on  until  now. 

His  brain  soon  cleared.  All  that  he  had  ever 
thought  upon  the  matter  now  crystallized  itself  into 
the  very  truth  of  the  affair.  Philip  had  married 
Guida  secretly ;  but  his  new  future  had  opened  up  to 
him  all  at  once,  and  he  had  married  again  —  a  crime, 
but  a  crime  which  in  high  places  sometimes  goes 
unpunished.  How  monstrous  it  was  that  such  vile 
wickedness  should  be  delivered  against  this  woman 
before  him,  in  whom  beauty,  goodness,  power  were 
commingled !  She  was  the  real  Princess  Philip 
d'Avranche,  and  this  child  of  hers  —  now  he  under- 
stood why  she  allowed  Guilbert  to  speak  no  patois  ! 

They  scarcely  knew  how  long  they  stood  silent, 
she  with  her  hand  stroking  the  child's  golden  hair,  he 
white  and  dazed,  looking  —  looking  at  her  and  the 
child,  as  the  thing  resolved  itself  to  him.  At  last,  in 
a  voice  which  neither  he  nor  she  could  quite  recognize 
as  his  own,  he  said  : 

"  Of  course  you  live  now  only  for  Guilbert." 

How  she  thanked  him  in  her  heart  for  the  things  he 


THE   BATTLE  .OF   THE   STRONG     319 

had  left  unsaid  —  those  things  which  clear-eyed  and 
great-minded  folk,  high  or  humble,  always  under- 
stand !  There  was  no  selfish  lamenting,  no  re- 
proaches, none  of  the  futile  banalities  of  the  lover 
who  fails  to  see  that  it  is  no  crime  for  a  woman  not 
to  love  him.  The  thing  he  had  said  was  the  thing 
she  most  cared  to  hear. 

"Only  for  that,  Ranulph,"  she  answered. 

"  When  will  you  claim  the  child's  rights  ? " 

She  shook  her  head  sadly.  "  I  do  not  know," 
she  answered  with  hesitation.  "  I  will  tell  you  all 
about  it." 

Then  she  told  him  of  the  lost  register  of  St. 
Michael's,  and  about  the  Reverend  Lorenzo  Dow, 
but  she  said  nothing  as  to  why  she  had  kept  silence. 
She  felt  that,  man  though  he  was,  he  might  divine 
something  of  the  truth.  In  any  case  he  knew  that 
Philip  had  deserted  her. 

After  a  moment  he  said  :  "  I  '11  find  Mr.  Dow  if  he 
is  alive,  and  the  register  too.  Then  the  boy  shall 
have  his  rights." 

"No,  Ranulph,"  she  answered  firmly,  "it  shall  be 
in  my  own  time.  I  must  keep  the  child  with  me.  I 
know  not  when  I  shall  speak :  I  am  biding  my  day. 
Once  I  thought  I  never  should  speak,  but  then  I 
did  not  see  all,  did  not  wholly  see  my  duty  towards 
Guilbert.  It  is  so  hard  to  find  what  is  wise  and 
just." 

"  When  the  proofs  are  found  your  child  shall  have 
his  rights,"  he  said  with  grim  insistence. 

"  I  would  never  let  him  go  from  me,"  she  answered, 
and,  leaning  over,  she  impulsively  clasped  the  little 
Guilbert  in  her  arms. 

"  There  '11  be  no  need  for  Guilbert  to  go  from  you," 


320  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

he  rejoined,  "for  when  your  rights  come  to  you, 
Philip  d'Avranche  will  not  be  living." 

"  Will  not  be  living !  "  she  said  in  amazement.  She 
did  not  understand. 

"I  mean  to  kill  him,"  he  answered  sternly. 

She  started,  and  the  light  of  anger  leaped  into  her 
eyes.  "  You  mean  to  kill  Philip  d'Avranche  —  you, 
Maitre  Ranulph  Delagarde  !  "  she  said.  "  Whom  has 
he  wronged  ?  Myself  and  my  child  only  —  his  wife 
and  his  child.  Men  have  been  killed  for  lesser  wrongs, 
but  the  right  to  kill  does  not  belong  to  you.  You 
speak  of  killing  Philip  d'Avranche,  and  yet  you  dare 
to  say  you  are  my  friend  !  " 

In  that  moment  Ranulph  learned  more  than  he  had 
ever  guessed  of  life's  subtle  distinctions  and  the  work- 
ings of  a  woman's  mind  ;  and  he  knew  that  she  was 
right.  Her  father,  her  grandfather,  might  have  killed 
Philip  d'Avranche —  any  one  but  himself,  he  the  man 
who  had  but  now  declared  his  love  for  her.  Clearly 
his  selfishness  had  blinded  him.  Right  was  on  his 
side,  but  not  the  formal  codes  by  which  men  live. 
He  could  not  avenge  Guida's  wrongs  upon  her  hus- 
band, for  all  men  knew  that  he  himself  had  loved  her 
for  years. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone.  Then  a  new 
thought  came  to  him.  "  Do  you  think  your  not  speak- 
ing all  these  years  was  best  for  the  child  ?  "  he  asked. 

Her  lips  trembled.  "  Oh,  that  thought,"  she  said, 
"  that  thought  has  made  me  unhappy  so  often  !  It 
comes  to  me  at  night  as  I  lie  sleepless,  and  I  wonder 
if  my  child  will  grow  up  and  turn  against  me  one  day. 
Yet  I  did  what  I  thought  was  right,  Ranulph,  I  did 
the  only  thing  I  could  do.  I  would  rather  have  died 
than  "  — 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     321 

She  stopped  short.  No,  not  even  to  this  man  who 
knew  all  could  she  speak  her  whole  mind  ;  but  some- 
times the  thought  came  to  her  with  horrifying  acute- 
ness  :  was  it  possible  that  she  ought  to  have  sunk  her 
own  disillusions,  misery,  and  contempt  of  Philip 
d'Avranche,  for  the  child's  sake  ?  She  shuddered 
even  now  as  the  reflection  of  that  possibility  came  to 
her  —  to  live  with  Philip  d'Avranche  ! 

Of  late  she  had  felt  that  a  crisis  was  near.  She 
had  had  premonitions  that  her  fate,  good  or  bad,  was 
closing  in  upon  her;  that  these  days  in  this  lonely 
spot  with  her  child,  with  her  love  for  it  and  its  love 
for  her,  were  numbered  ;  that  dreams  must  soon  give 
way  for  action,  and  this  devoted  peace  would  be 
broken,  she  knew  not  how. 

Stooping,  she  kissed  the  little  fellow  upon  the  fore- 
head and  the  eyes,  and  his  two  hands  came  up  and 
clasped  both  her  cheeks. 

"  Tu  m  dimes,  maman  ?  "  the  child  asked.  She  had 
taught  him  the  pretty  question. 

"  Comme  la  -vie,  comme  la  me  !  "  she  answered  with 
a  half  sob,  and  caught  up  the  little  one  to  her  bosom. 

Now  she  looked  towards  the  window.  Ranulph 
followed  her  look,  and  saw  that  the  shades  of  night 
were  falling. 

"  I  have  far  to  walk,"  he  said  ;  "  I  must  be  going." 

As  he  held  out  his  hand  to  Guida  the  child  leaned 
over  and  touched  him  on  the  shoulder.  "  What  is 
your  name,  man  ?  "  he  asked. 

He  smiled,  and,  taking  the  warm  little  hand  in  his 
own,  he  said  :  "  My  name  is  Ranulph,  little  gentle- 
man. Ranulph  's  my  name,  but  you  shall  call  me  Ro." 

"  Good-night,  Ro,  man,"  the  child  answered  with  a 
mischievous  smile. 


322     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

The  scene  brought  up  another  such  scene  in  Guida's 
life  so  many  years  ago.  Instinctively  she  drew  back 
with  the  child,  a  look  of  pain  crossing  her  face.  But 
Ranulph  did  not  see  ;  he  was  going.  At  the  doorway 
he  turned  and  said  :  — 

"  You  know  you  can  trust  me.     Good-by." 


CHAPTER    XXXI 

WHEN  Ranulph  returned  to  his  little  house  at 
St.  Aubin's  Bay  night  had  fallen.  Approach- 
ing he  saw  there  was  no  light  in  the  windows.  The 
blinds  were  not  drawn,  and  no  glimmer  of  fire  came 
from  the  chimney.  He  hesitated  at  the  door,  for  he 
instinctively  felt  that  something  must  have  happened 
to  his  father.  He  was  just  about  to  enter,  however, 
when  some  one  came  hurriedly  round  the  corner  of 
the  house. 

"  Whist,  boy !  "  said  a  voice.  "  I  Ve  news  for  you." 
Ranulph  recognized  the  voice  as  that  of  Dormy 
Jamais.  Dormy  plucked  at  his  sleeve.  "  Come  with 
me,  boy,"  said  he. 

"  Come  inside  if  you  want  to  tell  me  something," 
answered  Ranulph. 

"  Ah  bah,  not  for  me  !  Stone  walls  have  ears.  I  '11 
tell  only  you  and  the  wind  that  hears  and  runs  away." 

"  I  must  speak  to  my  father  first,"  answered  Ran- 
ulph. 

"  Come  with  me,  I  Ve  got  him  safe ! "  Dormy 
chuckled  to  himself. 

Ranulph's  heavy  hand  dropped  on  his  shoulder. 
"What's  that  you're  saying — my  father  with  you! 
What 's  the  matter  ?  " 

As  though  oblivious  of  Ranulph's  hand  Dormy 
went  on  chuckling. 

"  Whoever  burns  me  for  a  fool  '11  lose  their  ashes. 


324  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

Des  monz  a  fous  —  I  have  a  head !  Come  with 
me." 

Ranulph  saw  that  he  must  humor  the  shrewd  natu- 
ral, so  he  said  :  — 

"  Et  ben,  put  your  four  shirts  in  five  bundles  and 
come  along."  He  was  a  true  Jersey  man  at  heart, 
and  speaking  to  such  as  Dormy  Jamais  he  used  the 
homely  patois  phrases.  He  knew  there  was  no  use 
hurrying  the  little  man,  he  would  take  his  own  time. 

"  There  's  been  the  devil  to  pay,"  said  Dormy  as  he 
ran  towards  the  shore,  his  sabots  going  clac-clac,  clac- 
clac.  "There  's  been  the  devil  to  pay  in  St.  Heliers, 
boy  !  "  He  spoke  scarcely  above  a  whisper. 

"Tcheche  —  what's  that?"  said  Ranulph.  But 
Dormy  was  not  to  uncover  his  pot  of  roses  till  his  own 
time. 

"  That  Connetable  's  got  no  more  wit  than  a  square- 
bladed  knife ! "  he  rattled  on.  "  But  gache-a-penn, 
I  'm  hungry  !  "  And  as  he  ran  he  began  munching  a 
lump  of  bread  he  took  from  his  pocket. 

For  the  next  five  minutes  they  went  on  in  silence. 
It  was  quite  dark,  and  as  they  passed  up  Market  Hill 
—  called  Ghost  Lane  because  of  the  Good  Little 
People  who  made  it  their  highway  —  Dormy  caught 
hold  of  Ranulph' s  coat  and  trotted  along  beside  him. 
As  they  went,  tokens  of  the  life  within  came  out  to 
them  through  doorway  and  window.  Now  it  was  the 
voice  of  a  laughing  young  mother  :  — 

"  Si  tu  as/aim 
Manges  ta  main 
Et  gardes  Vautre  pour  demain  ; 
Et  ta  t$te 

Pour  le  jour  de  fete  ; 
Et  ton  gros  ortte 
Pour  le  Jour  Saint  NorbL" 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     325 

And  again :  — 

"  Let  us  pluck  the  bill  of  the  lark, 
The  lark  from  head  to  tail "  — 

He  knew  the  voice.  It  was  that  of  a  young  wife  of 
the  parish  of  St.  Saviour :  married  happily,  living  sim- 
ply, given  a  frugal  board,  after  the  manner  of  her 
kind,  and  a  comradeship  for  life.  For  the  moment 
he  felt  little  but  sorrow  for  himself.  The  world 
seemed  to  be  conspiring  against  him  :  the  chorus  of 
Fate  was  singing  behind  the  scenes,  singing  of  the 
happiness  of  others  in  sardonic  comment  on  his  own 
final  unhappiness.  Yet  despite  the  pain  of  finality 
there  was  on  him  something  of  the  apathy  of  despair. 

From  another  doorway  came  fragments  of  a  song 
sung  at  a  veille.  The  door  was  open,  and  he  could 
see  within  the  happy  gathering  of  lads  and  lasses  in 
the  light  of  the  crasset.  There  was  the  spacious 
kitchen,  its  beams  and  rafters  dark  with  age,  adorned 
with  flitches  of  bacon,  huge  loaves  resting  in  the 
racllyi  beneath  the  centre  beam,  the  broad  open 
hearth,  the  flaming  fire  of  logs,  and  the  great  brass 
pan  shining  like  fresh-coined  gold,  on  its  iron  tripod 
over  the  logs.  Lasses  in  their  short  woolen  petti- 
coats, and  bedgones  of  blue  and  lilac,  with  boisterous 
lads,  were  stirring  the  contents  of  the  vast  bashin  — 
many  cabots  of  apples,  together  with  sugar,  lemon- 
peel,  and  cider  ;  the  old  ladies  in  mob-caps  tied  under 
the  chin,  measuring  out  the  nutmeg  and  cinnamon,  to 
complete  the  making  of  the  black  butter :  a  jocund 
recreation  for  all,  and  at  all  times. 

In  one  corner  was  a  fiddler,  and  on  the  veille,  flour- 
ished for  the  occasion  with  satinettes  and  fern,  sat 
two  centeniers  and  the  preVot,  singing  an  old  song  in 
the  patois  of  three  parishes. 


326  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

Ranulph  looked  at  the  scene  lingeringly.  Here  he 
was,  with  mystery  and  peril  to  hasten  his  steps,  loiter- 
ing at  the  spot  where  the  light  of  home  streamed  out 
upon  the  roadway.  But  though  he  lingered,  somehow 
he  seemed  withdrawn  from  all  these  things ;  they 
were  to  him  now  as  pictures  of  a  distant  past. 

Dormy  plucked  at  his  coat.  "  Come,  come,  lift 
your  feet,  lift  your  feet,"  said  he  ;  "it 's  no  time  to 
walk  in  slippers.  The  old  man  will  be  getting  scared, 
oui-gia !  " 

Ranulph  roused  himself.  Yes,  yes,  he  must  hurry 
on.  He  had  not  forgotten  his  father,  but  something 
held  him  here  :  as  though  Fate  were  whispering  in 
his  ear,  What  does  it  matter  now  ?  While  yet  you 
may,  feed  on  the  sight  of  happiness.  So  the  prisoner 
going  to  execution  seizes  one  of  the  few  moments 
left  to  him  for  prayer,  to  look  lingeringly  upon  what 
he  leaves,  as  though  to  carry  into  the  dark  a  clear 
remembrance  of  it  all. 

Moving  on  quietly  in  a  kind  of  dream,  Ranulph  was 
roused  again  by  Dormy's  voice  :  "  On  Sunday  I  saw 
three  magpies,  and  there  was  a  wedding  that  day. 
Tuesday  I  saw  two  — that 's  for  joy  —  and  fifty  Jer- 
sey prisoners  of  the  French  comes  back  on  Jersey 
that  day.  This  morning  one  I  saw.  One  magpie  is 
for  trouble,  and  trouble  's  here.  One  does  n't  have 
eyes  for  naught  —  no,  bidemme  !  " 

Ranulph's  patience  was  exhausted. 

"  Bachouar  !  "  he  exclaimed  roughly,  "  you  make 
elephants  out  of  fleas.  You  've  got  no  more  news 
than  a  conch-shell  has  music.  A  minute  and  you  '11 
have  a  back-hander  that  '11  put  you  to  sleep,  Maitre 
Dormy  !  " 

If  he  had  been  asked  his  news  politely  Dormy  would 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  327 

have  been  still  more  cunningly  reticent.  To  abuse 
him  in  his  own  argot  was  to  make  him  loose  his  bag  of 
mice  in  a  flash. 

"  Bachouar  yourself,  Maitre  Ranulph  !  You'll  find 
out  soon.  No  news  —  no  trouble  —  eh  !  Par  made, 
Mattingley 's  gone  to  the  Vier  Prison — he!  The 
baker  's  come  back,  and  the  Connetable's  after  Olivier 
Delagarde.  No  trouble,  pardingue !  if  no  trouble, 
Dormy  Jamais  's  a  bat'd'lagoule,  and  no  need  for 
father  of  you  to  hide  in  a  place  that  only  Dormy 
knows  —  my  good  !  " 

So  at  last  the  blow  had  fallen  —  after  all  these  years 
of  silence,  sacrifice,  and  misery.  The  futility  of  all 
that  he  had  done  and  suffered  for  his  father's  sake 
came  home  to  Ranulph.  Yet  his  brain  was  instantly 
alive.  He  questioned  Dormy  rapidly  and  adroitly, 
and  got  the  story  from  him  in  patches. 

The  baker  Carcaud  who,  with  Olivier  Delagarde, 
betrayed  the  country  into  the  hands  of  Rullecour 
years  ago,  had,  with  a  French  confederate  of  Mat- 
tingley's,  been  captured  in  attempting  to  steal  Jean 
Touzel's  boat,  the  Hardi  Biaou.  At  the  capture  the 
confederate  had  been  shot.  Before  dying  he  im- 
plicated Mattingley  in  several  robberies,  and  a  noto- 
rious case  of  piracy  of  three  months  before,  committed 
within  gunshot  of  the  men-of-war  lying  in  the  tideway. 
Carcaud,  seriously  wounded,  to  save  his  life  turned 
King's  evidence,  and  disclosed  to  the  Royal  Court  in 
private  his  own  guilt  and  Olivier  Delagarde' s  treason. 

Hidden  behind  the  great  chair  of  the  Bailly  him- 
self, Dormy  Jamais  had  heard  the  whole  business. 
This  had  brought  him  hot-foot  to  St.  Aubin's  Bay, 
whence  he  had  hurried  Olivier  Delagarde  to  a  hiding- 
place  in  the  hills  above  the  bay  of  St.  Brelade.  The 


328  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

fool  had  travelled  more  swiftly  than  Jersey  justice, 
whose  feet  are  heavy.  Elie  Mattingley  was  now  in 
the  Vier  Prison.  There  was  the  whole  story. 

The  mask  had  fallen,  the  game  was  up.  Well,  at 
least  there  would  be  no  more  lying,  no  more  brutal- 
izing inward  shame.  All  at  once  it  appeared  to 
Ranulph  madness  that  he  had  not  taken  his  father 
away  from  Jersey  long  ago.  Yet,  too,  he  knew  that 
as  things  had  been  with  Guida  he  could  never  have 
stayed  away. 

Nothing  now  was  left  but  action.  He  must  get  his 
father  clear  of  the  Island  and  that  soon.  But  how  ? 
and  where  should  they  go  ?  He  had  a  boat  in  St. 
Aubin's  Bay :  getting  there  under  cover  of  dark- 
ness he  might  embark  with  his  father  and  set  sail  — 
whither?  To  Sark  —  there  was  no  safety  there.  To 
Guernsey  —  that  was  no  better.  To  France  —  yes, 
that  was  it,  to  the  war  of  the  Vendee,  to  join  Detri- 
cand.  No  need  to  find  the  scrap  of  paper  once  given 
him  in  the  Vier  Marchi.  Wherever  Detricand  might 
be,  his  fame  was  the  highway  to  him.  All  France 
knew  of  the  companion  of  de  la  Rochejaquelein,  the 
fearless  Comte  de  Tournay.  Ranulph  made  his  deci- 
sion. Shamed  and  dishonored  in  Jersey,  in  that  holy 
war  of  the  Vendee  he  would  find  something  to  kill 
memory,  to  take  him  out  of  life  without  disgrace.  His 
father  must  go  with  him  to  France,  and  bide  his  fate 
there  also. 

By  the  time  his  mind  was  thus  made  up,  they  had 
reached  the  lonely  headland  dividing  Portelet  Bay  from 
St.  Brelade's.  Dark  things  were  said  of  this  spot,  and 
the  country  folk  of  the  Island  were  wont  to  avoid  it. 
Beneath  the  cliffs  in  the  sea  was  a  rocky  islet  called 
Janvrin's  Tomb.  One  Janvrin,  ill  of  a  fell  disease,  and 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  329 

with  his  fellows  forbidden  by  the  Royal  Court  to  land, 
had  taken  refuge  here,  and  died  wholly  neglected  and 
without  burial.  Afterwards  his  body  lay  exposed  till 
the  ravens  and  vultures  devoured  it,  and  at  last  a  great 
storm  swept  his  bones  off  into  the  sea.  Strange  lights 
were  to  be  seen  about  this  rock,  and  though  wise  men 
guessed  them  mortal  glimmerings,  easily  explained, 
they  sufficed  to  give  the  headland  immunity  from  in- 
vasion. 

To  a  cave  at  this  point  Dormy  Jamais  had  brought 
the  trembling  Olivier  Delagarde,  unrepenting  and 
peevish,  but  with  a  craven  fear  of  the  Royal  Court 
and  a  furious  populace  quickening  his  footsteps.  This 
hiding-place  was  entered  at  low  tide  by  a  passage  from 
a  larger  cave.  It  was  like  a  little  vaulted  chapel 
floored  with  sand  and  shingle.  A  crevice  through 
rock  and  earth  to  the  world  above  let  in  the  light  and 
out  the  smoke. 

Here  Olivier  Delagarde  sat  crouched  over  a  tiny 
fire,  with  some  bread  and  a  jar  of  water  at  his  hand, 
gesticulating  and  talking  to  himself.  The  long  white 
hair  and  beard,  with  the  benevolent  forehead,  gave 
him  the  look  of  some  latter-day  St.  Helier,  grieving 
for  the  sins  and  praying  for  the  sorrows  of  mankind ; 
but  from  the  hateful  mouth  came  profanity  fit  only  for 
the  dreadful  communion  of  a  Witches'  Sabbath. 

Hearing  the  footsteps  of  Ranulph  and  Dormy,  he 
cowered  and  shivered  in  terror,  but  Ranulph,  who 
knew  too  well  his  revolting  cowardice,  called  to  him 
reassuringly.  On  their  approach  he  stretched  out  his 
talon-like  fingers  in  a  gesture  of  entreaty. 

"You'll  not  let  them  hang  me,  Ranulph  —  you'll 
save  me  !  "  he  whimpered. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  they  shall  not  hang  you,"  Ranulph 


330  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

replied  quietly,  and  began  warming  his  hands  at  the 
fire. 

"  You  '11  swear  it,  Ranulph  —  on  the  Bible  ?  " 
"  I  Ve  told  you  they  shall   not   hang   you.     You 
ought  to  know  by  now  whether  I  mean  what  I  say," 
his  son  answered  more  sharply. 

Assuredly  Ranulph  meant  that  his  father  should  not 
be  hanged.  Whatever  the  law  was,  whatever  wrong 
the  old  man  had  done,  it  had  been  atoned  for ;  the 
price  had  been  paid  by  both.  He  himself  had  drunk 
the  cup  of  shame  to  the  dregs,  but  now  he  would  not 
swallow  the  dregs.  An  iron  determination  entered 
into  him.  He  had  endured  all  that  he  would  endure 
from  man.  He  had  set  out  to  defend  Olivier  Dela- 
garde  from  the  worst  that  might  happen,  and  he  was 
ready  to  do  so  to  the  bitter  end.  His  scheme  of 
justice  might  not  be  that  of  the  Royal  Court,  but  he 
would  defend  it  with  his  life.  He  had  suddenly  grown 
hard  —  and  dangerous. 


CHAPTER    XXXII 

THE  Royal  Court  was  sitting  late.  Candles  had 
been  brought  to  light  the  long  desk  or  dais 
where  sat  the  Bailly  in  his  great  chair,  and  the  twelve 
scarlet-robed  jurats.  The  Attorney-General  stood  at 
his  desk,  mechanically  scanning  the  indictment  read 
against  prisoners  charged  with  capital  crimes.  His 
work  was  over,  and  according  to  his  lights  he  had 
done  it  well.  Not  even  the  Undertaker's  Apprentice 
could  have  been  less  sensitive  to  the  struggles  of 
humanity  under  the  heel  of  fate  and  death.  A  plain- 
tive complacency,  a  little  righteous  austerity,  and  an 
agreeable  expression  of  hunger  made  the  Attorney- 
General  a  figure  in  godly  contrast  to  the  prisoner 
awaiting  his  doom  in  the  iron  cage  opposite. 

There  was  a  singular  stillness  in  this  sombre  Royal 
Court,  where  only  a  tallow  candle  or  two  and  a  dim 
lantern  near  the  door  filled  the  room  with  flickering 
shadows  —  great  heads  upon  the  wall  drawing  close 
together,  and  vast  lips  murmuring  awful  secrets.  Low 
whisperings  came  through  the  dusk  like  mournful 
night-winds  carrying  tales  of  awe  through  a  heavy 
forest.  Once  in  the  long  silence  a  figure  rose  up 
silently,  and  stealing  across  the  room  to  a  door  near 
the  jury  box,  tapped  upon  it  with  a  pencil.  A  mo- 
ment's pause,  the  door  opened  slightly,  and  another 
shadowy  figure  appeared,  whispered,  and  vanished. 
Then  the  first  figure  closed  the  door  again  silently, 


332  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

and  came  and  spoke  softly  up  to  the  Bailly,  who 
yawned  in  his  hand,  sat  back  in  his  chair,  and  drummed 
his  fingers  upon  the  arm.  Thereupon  the  other  — 
the  greffier  of  the  court  —  settled  down  at  his  desk 
beneath  the  jurats,  and  peered  into  an  open  book  be- 
fore him,  his  eyes  close  to  the  page,  reading  silently 
by  the  meagre  light  of  a  candle  from  the  great  desk 
behind  him. 

Now  a  fat  and  ponderous  avocat  rose  up  and  was 
about  to  speak,  but  the  Bailly,  with  a  peevish  gesture, 
waved  him  down,  and  he  settled  heavily  into  place 
again. 

At  last  the  door  at  which  the  greffier  had  tapped 
opened,  and  a  gaunt  figure  in  a  red  robe  came  out. 
Standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room  he  motioned  to- 
wards the  great  pew  opposite  the  Attorney-General. 
Slowly  the  twenty-four  men  of  the  grand  jury  follow- 
ing him  filed  into  place  and  sat  themselves  down  in 
the  shadows.  Then  the  gaunt  figure  —  the  Vicomte 
or  high  sheriff  —  bowing  to  the  Bailly  and  the  jurats, 
went  over  and  took  his  seat  beside  the  Attorney-Gen- 
eral. Whereupon  the  Bailly  leaned  forward  and  droned 
a  question  to  the  Grand  Enquete  in  the  shadow.  One 
rose  up  from  among  the  twenty-four,  and  out  of  the 
dusk  there  came  in  reply  to  the  Judge  a  squeaking 
voice :  — 

"  We  find  the  Prisoner  at  the  Bar  more  Guilty  than 
Innocent." 

A  shudder  ran  through  the  court.  But  some  one 
not  in  the  room  shuddered  still  more  violently.  From 
the  gable  window  of  a  house  in  the  Rue  des  Tres 
Pigeons,  a  girl  had  sat  the  livelong  day,  looking,  look- 
ing into  the  court-room.  She  had  watched  the  day 
decline,  the  evening  come,  and  the  lighting  of  the 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     333 

crassets  and  the  candles,  and  had  waited  to  hear  the 
words  that  meant  more  to  her  than  her  own  life.  At 
last  the  great  moment  came,  and  she  could  hear  the 
foreman's  voice  whining  the  fateful  words,  "More 
Guilty  than  Innocent" 

It  was  Carterette  Mattingley,  and  the  prisoner  at 
the  bar  was  her  father. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

MATTINGLEY'S  dungeon  was  infested  with  rats 
and  other  vermin,  he  had  only  straw  for  his 
bed,  and  his  food  and  drink  were  bread  and  water. 
The  walls  were  damp  with  moisture  from  the  Fauxbie 
running  beneath,  and  a  mere  glimmer  of  light  came 
through  a  small  barred  window.  Superstition  had 
surrounded  the  Vier  Prison  with  horrors.  As  carts 
passed  under  the  great  archway,  its  depth  multiplied 
the  sounds  so  powerfully,  the  echoes  were  so  fantastic, 
that  folk  believed  them  the  roarings  of  fiendish  spirits. 
If  a  mounted  guard  hurried  through,  the  reverbera- 
tion of  the  drum-beats  and  the  clatter  of  hoofs  were 
so  uncouth  that  children  stopped  their  ears  and  fled 
in  terror.  To  the  ignorant  populace  the  Vier  Prison 
was  the  home  of  noisome  serpents  and  the  rendezvous 
of  the  devil  and  his  witches  of  Rocbert. 

When  therefore  the  seafaring  merchant  of  the  Vier 
Marchi,  whose  massive,  brass-studded  bahue  had  been 
as  a  gay  bazaar  where  the  gentry  of  Jersey  refreshed 
their  wardrobes,  with  one  eye  closed  —  when  he  was 
transferred  to  the  Vier  Prison,  little  wonder  he  should 
become  a  dreadful  being  round  whom  played  the  light- 
nings of  dark  fancy.  Elie  Mattingley,  the  popular 
sinner,  with  insolent  gold  rings  in  his  ears,  unchal- 
lenged as  to  how  he  came  by  his  merchandise,  was 
one  person  ;  Elie  Mattingley,  a  torch  for  the  burning, 
and  housed  amid  the  terrors  of  the  Vier  Prison,  was 
another. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  335 

Few  people  in  Jersey  slept  the  night  before  his 
execution.  Here  and  there  kind-hearted  women  or 
unimportant  men  lay  awake  through  pity,  and  a  few 
through  a  vague  sense  of  loss ;  for,  henceforth,  the 
Vier  Marchi  would  lack  a  familiar  interest  ;  but  mostly 
the  people  of  Mattingley's  world  were  wakeful  through 
curiosity.  Morbid  expectation  of  the  hanging  had  for 
them  a  gruesome  diversion.  The  thing  itself  would 
break  the  daily  monotony  of  life  and  provide  hushed 
gossip  for  vraic-gatherings  and  veilles  for  a  long  time 
to  come.  Thus  Elie  Mattingley  would  not  die  in  vain  ! 

Here  was  one  sensation,  but  there  was  still  another. 
Olivier  Delagarde  had  been  unmasked,  and  the  whole 
Island  had  gone  tracking  him  down.  No  aged  tooth- 
less tiger  was  ever  sported  through  the  jungle  by  an 
army  of  shikarris  with  hungrier  malice  than  was  this 
broken  traitor  by  the  people  he  had  betrayed.  Ensued, 
therefore,  a  commingling  of  patriotism  with  lust  of 
man-hunting  and  eager  expectation  of  to-morrow's 
sacrifice. 

Nothing  of  this  excitement  disturbed  Mattingley. 
He  did  not  sleep,  but  that  was  because  he  was  still 
watching  for  a  means  of  escape.  He  felt  his  chances 
diminish,  however,  when  about  midnight  an  extra  guard 
was  put  round  the  prison.  Something  had  gone  amiss 
in  the  matter  of  his  rescue. 

Three  things  had  been  planned. 

Firstly,  he  was  to  try  escape  by  the  small  window 
of  the  dungeon. 

Secondly,  Carterette  was  to  bring  Sebastian  Alix- 
andre  to  the  prison  disguised  as  a  sorrowing  aunt  of 
the  condemned.  Alixandre  was  suddenly  to  overpower 
the  jailer,  Mattingley  was  to  make  a  rush  for  freedom, 
and  a  few  bold.spirits  without  would  second  his  efforts 


336  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

and  smuggle  him  to  the  sea.  The  directing  mind  and 
hand  in  the  business  were  Ranulph  Delagarde's.  He 
was  to  have  his  boat  waiting  to  respond  to  a  signal 
from  the  shore,  and  to  make  sail  for  France,  where  he 
and  his  father  were  to  be  landed.  There  he  was  to 
give  Mattingley,  Alixandre,  and  Carterette  his  craft 
to  fare  across  the  seas  to  the  great  fishing-ground  of 
Gaspe  in  Canada. 

Lastly,  if  these  plans  failed,  the  executioner  was  to 
be  drugged  with  liquor,  his  besetting  weakness,  on  the 
eve  of  the  hanging. 

The  first  plan  had  been  found  impossible,  the  win- 
dow being  too  small  for  even  Mattingley's  head  to  get 
through.  The  second  had  failed  because  the  righteous 
Royal  Court  forbade  Carterette  the  prison,  intent  that 
she  should  no  longer  be  contaminated  by  so  vile  a 
wretch  as  her  father.  For  years  this  same  Christian 
solicitude  had  looked  down  from  the  windows  of  the 
Cohue  Royale  upon  this  same  criminal  in  the  Vier 
Marchi,  with  one  blind  eye  for  himself  the  sinner,  and 
an  open  one  for  his  merchandise. 

Mattingley  could  hear  the  hollow  sound  of  the  sen- 
tinels' steps  under  the  archway  of  the  Vier  Prison. 
He  was  quite  stoical.  If  he  had  to  die,  then  he  had 
to  die.  Death  could  only  be  a  little  minute  of  agony ; 
and  for  what  came  after  —  well,  he  had  not  thought 
fearfully  of  that,  and  he  had  no  wish  to  think  of  it  at 
all.  The  visiting  chaplain  had  talked,  and  he  had  not 
listened.  He  had  his  own  ideas  about  life,  and  death, 
and  the  beyond,  and  they  were  not  ungenerous.  The 
chaplain  had  found  him  patient  but  impossible,  kindly 
but  unresponsive,  sometimes  even  curious,  but  with- 
out remorse. 

"  You  should  repent  with  sorrow  and  a  contrite 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  337 

heart,"  said  the  clergyman.  "You  have  done  many 
evil  things  in  your  life,  Mattingley." 

Mattingley  had  replied  :  "  Ma  fuifre,  I  can't  remem- 
ber them !  I  know  I  never  done  them,  for  I  never 
done  anything  but  good  all  my  life  —  so  much  for  so 
much !  " 

He  had  argued  it  out  with  himself  and  he  believed 
he  was  a  good  man.  He  had  been  open-handed,  had 
stood  by  his  friends,  and,  up  to  a  few  days  ago,  was 
counted  a  good  citizen  ;  for  many  had  come  to  profit 
through  him.  His  trade  —  a  little  smuggling,  a  little 
piracy  ?  Was  not  the  former  hallowed  by  distin- 
guished patronage  and  had  it  not  existed  from  imme- 
morial time  ?  It  was  fair  fight  for  gain,  an  eye  for 
an  eye  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth.  If  he  had  n't  robbed 
others  on  the  high  seas,  they  would  probably  have 
robbed  him — and  sometimes  they  did.  His  spirit 
was  that  of  the  Elizabethan  admirals  ;  he  belonged  to 
a  century  not  his  own.  As  for  the  crime  for  which 
he  was  to  suffer,  it  had  been  the  work  of  another 
hand,  and  very  bad  work  it  was,  to  try  and  steal  Jean 
Touzel's  Hardi  Biaou,  and  then  bungle  it !  He  had 
had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  for  he  and  Jean  Touzel 
were  the  best  of  friends,  as  was  proved  by  the  fact 
that  while  he  lay  in  his  dungeon,  Jean  wandered  the 
shore  sorrowing  for  his  fate. 

Thinking  now  of  the  whole  business  and  of  his 
past  life,  Mattingley  suddenly  had  a  pang.  Yes,  re- 
morse smote  him  at  last.  There  was  one  thing  on 
his  conscience  —  only  one.  He  had  respect  for  the 
feelings  of  others,  and  where  the  Church  was  con- 
cerned this  was  mingled  with  a  droll  sort  of  pity,  as 
of  the  greater  for  the  lesser,  the  wise  for  the  helpless. 
For  clergymen  he  had  a  half-affectionate  contempt. 


338     THE   BATTLE    OF   THE   STRONG 

He  remembered  now  that  when,  four  years  ago,  his 
confederate  who  had  turned  out  so  badly  —  he  had 
trusted  him,  too !  —  had  robbed  the  church  of  St. 
Michael's,  carrying  off  the  great  chest  of  communion 
plate,  offertories,  and  rents,  he  had  piously  left  be- 
hind in  Mattingley's  house  the  vestry-books  and 
parish-register,  a  nice  definition  in  rogues'  ethics. 
Awaiting  his  end  now,  it  smote  Mattingley's  soul 
that  these  stolen  records  had  not  been  returned  to 
St.  Michael's.  Next  morning  he  must  send  word  to 
Carterette  to  restore  the  books.  Then  his  conscience 
would  be  clear  once  more.  With  this  resolve  quieting 
his  mind,  he  turned  over  on  his  straw  and  went 
peacefully  to  sleep. 

Hours  afterwards  he  waked  with  a  yawn.  There 
was  no  start,  no  terror,  but  the  appearance  of  the 
jailer  with  the  chaplain  roused  in  him  disgust  for 
the  coming  function  at  the  Mont  es  Pendus.  Disgust 
was  his  chief  feeling.  This  was  no  way  for  a  man  to 
die  !  With  a  choice  of  evils  he  should  have  preferred 
walking  the  plank,  or  even  dying  quietly  in  his  bed, 
to  being  stifled  by  a  rope.  To  dangle  from  a  cross- 
tree  like  a  half-filled  bag  offended  all  instincts  of 
picturesqueness,  and  first  and  last  he  had  been 
picturesque. 

He  asked  at  once  for  pencil  and  paper.  His  wishes 
were  obeyed  with  deference.  On  the  whole  he  real- 
ized by  the  attentions  paid  him  —  the  brandy  and  the 
food  offered  by  the  jailer,  the  fluttering  kindness  of 
the  chaplain  —  that  in  the  life  of  a  criminal  there  is 
one  moment  when  he  commands  the  situation.  He 
refused  the  brandy,  for  he  was  strongly  against  spirits 
in  the  early  morning,  but  asked  for  coffee.  Eating 
seemed  superfluous  —  and  a  man  might  die  more  gayly 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  339 

on  an  empty  stomach.  He  assured  the  chaplain  that 
he  had  come  to  terms  with  his  conscience  and  was  now 
about  to  perform  the  last  act  of  a  well-intentioned  life. 

There  and  then  he  wrote  to  Carterette,  telling  her 
about  the  vestry-books  of  St.  Michael's,  and  begging 
that  she  should  restore  them  secretly.  There  were 
no  affecting  messages  :  they  understood  each  other. 
He  knew  that  when  it  was  possible  she  would  never 
fail  to  come  to  the  mark  where  he  was  concerned, 
and  she  had  equal  faith  in  him.  So  the  letter  was 
sealed,  addressed  with  flourishes  —  he  was  proud  of 
his  handwriting  —  and  handed  to  the  chaplain  for 
Carterette. 

He  had  scarcely  drunk  his  coffee  when  there  was  a 
roll  of  drums  outside.  Mattingley  knew  that  his  hour 
was  come,  and  yet  to  his  own  surprise  he  had  no  vio- 
lent sensations.  He  had  a  shock  presently,  however, 
for  on  the  jailer  announcing  the  executioner,  who 
should  be  there  before  him  but  the  Undertaker's  Ap- 
prentice !  In  politeness  to  the  chaplain  Mattingley 
forbore  profanity.  This  was  the  one  Jerseyman  for 
whom  he  had  a  profound  hatred,  this  youth  with  the 
slow,  cold,  watery  blue  eye,  a  face  that  never  wrinkled 
either  with  mirth  or  misery,  the  square-set  teeth 
always  showing  a  little  —  an  involuntary  grimace  of 
cruelty.  Here  was  insult. 

"  Devil  below  us,  so  you  're  going  to  do  it  — you !  " 
broke  out  Mattingley. 

"The  other  man  was  drunk,"  said  the  Undertaker's 
Apprentice  ;  "  he  's  been  full  as  a  jug  three  days.  He 
got  drunk  too  soon."  The  grimace  seemed  to  widen. 

"  O  my  good  !  "  said  Mattingley,  and  he  would  say 
no  more.  To  him  words  were  like  nails  —  of  no  use 
unless  they  were  to  be  driven  home  by  acts. 


340  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

To  Mattingley  the  procession  of  death  was  stupidly 
slow.  As  it  issued  from  the  archway  of  the  Vier 
Prison  between  mounted  guards,  and  passed  through 
a  long  lane  of  moving  spectators,  he  looked  round 
coolly.  One  or  two  bold  spirits  cried  out,  "  Head  up 
to  the  wind,  Maitre  Elie !  " 

"Oui-gia,"  he  replied;  "devil  a  topsail  in!"  and 
turned  a  look  of  contempt  on  those  who  hooted  him. 
He  realized  now  that  there  was  no  chance  of  rescue. 
The  militia  and  the  town  guard  were  in  ominous  force, 
and  although  his  respect  for  the  Island  military  was 
not  devout,  a  bullet  from  the  musket  of  a  fool  might 
be  as  effective  as  one  from  Bonapend's  — as  Napoleon 
Bonaparte  was  disdainfully  called  in  Jersey.  Yet  he 
could  not  but  wonder  why  all  the  plans  of  Alixandre, 
Carterette,  and  Ranulph  had  gone  for  nothing  ;  even 
the  hangman  had  been  got  drunk  too  soon  !  He  had 
a  high  opinion  of  Ranulph,  and  that  he  should  fail 
him  was  a  blow  to  his  judgment  of  humanity. 

He  was  thoroughly  disgusted.  Also  they  had  com- 
pelled him  to  put  on  a  white  shirt,  he  who  had  never 
worn  linen  in  his  life.  He  was  ill  at  ease  in  it.  It 
made  him  conspicuous ;  it  looked  as  though  he  were 
aping  the  gentleman  at  the  last.  He  tried  to  resign 
himself,  but  resignation  was  hard  to  learn  so  late  in 
life.  Somehow  he  could  not  feel  that  this  was  really 
the  day  of  his  death.  Yet  how  could  it  be  otherwise  ? 
There  was  the  Vicomte  in  his  red  robe,  there  was  the 
sinister  Undertaker's  Apprentice,  ready  to  do  his 
hangman's  duty.  There,  as  they  crossed  the  mielles, 
while  the  sea  droned  its  sing-song  on  his  left,  was  the 
parson  droning  his  sing-song  on  the  right  —  "  In  the 
midst  of  life  we  are  in  death"  etc.  There  were  the 
grumbling  drums,  and  the  crowd  morbidly  enjoying 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     341 

their  Roman  holiday ;  and  there,  looming  up  before 
him,  were  the  four  stone  pillars  on  the  Mont  es  Pen- 
dus  from  which  he  was  to  swing.  His  disgust  deep- 
ened. He  was  not  dying  like  a  seafarer  who  had 
fairly  earned  his  reputation. 

His  feelings  found  vent  even  as  he  came  to  the 
foot  of  the  platform  where  he  was  to  make  his  last 
stand,  and  the  guards  formed  a  square  about  the  great 
pillars,  glooming  like  Druidic  altars.  He  burst  forth 
in  one  phrase  expressive  of  his  feelings. 

"  Sacre  matin,  so  damned  paltry !  "  he  said,  in  equal 
tribute  to  two  races. 

The  Undertaker's  Apprentice,  thinking  this  a  re- 
flection upon  his  arrangements,  said,  with  a  wave  of 
the  hand  to  the  rope  :  — 

"  Nannin,  ch'est  tres  ship-shape,  Maitre  !  " 

The  Undertaker's  Apprentice  was  wrong.  He  had 
made  everything  ship-shape,  as  he  thought,  but  a  gin 
had  been  set  for  him.  The  rope  to  be  used  at  the 
hanging  had  been  measured  and  approved  by  the 
Vicomte,  and  the  Undertaker's  Apprentice  had  carried 
it  to  his  room  at  the  top  of  the  Cohue  Royale.  In 
the  dead  of  night,  however,  Dormy  Jamais  drew  it 
from  under  the  mattress  whereon  the  deathman  slept, 
and  substituted  one  a  foot  longer.  This  had  been 
Ranulph's  idea  as  a  last  resort,  for  he  had  a  grim  wish 
to  foil  the  law  even  at  the  twelfth  hour ! 

The  great  moment  had  come.  The  shouts  and 
hootings  ceased.  Out  of  the  silence  there  arose  only 
the  champing  of  a  horse's  bit  or  the  hysterical  giggle 
of  a  woman.  The  high  painful  drone  of  the  chaplain's 
voice  was  heard. 

Then    came   the   fatal    "  Maintenant ! "   from   the 


342     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

Vicomte  —  the  platform  fell,  and  Elie  Mattingley 
dropped  the  length  of  the  rope. 

What  was  the  consternation  of  the  Vicomte  and 
the  hangman,  and  the  horror  of  the  crowd,  to  see  that 
Mattingley 's  toes  just  touched  the  ground!  The 
body  shook  and  twisted.  The  man  was  being  slowly 
strangled,  not  hanged. 

The  Undertaker's  Apprentice  was  the  only  person 
who  kept  a  cool  head.  The  solution  of  the  problem 
of  the  rope  for  afterwards,  but  he  had  been  sent  there 
to  hang  a  man,  and  a  man  he  would  hang  somehow. 
Without  more  ado  he  jumped  upon  Mattingley's 
shoulders  and  began  to  drag  him  down. 

That  instant  Ranulph  Delagarde  burst  through  the 
mounted  guard  and  the  militia.  Rushing  to  the  Vi- 
comte, he  exclaimed  :  — 

"  Shame !  The  man  was  to  be  hung,  not  strangled. 
This  is  murder !  Stop  it,  or  I  '11  cut  the  rope  !  "  He 
looked  round  on  the  crowd.  "  Cowards  —  cowards !  " 
he  cried,  "will  you  see  him  murdered  ?  " 

He  started  forward  to  drag  away  the  deathman,  but 
the  Vicomte,  thoroughly  terrified  at  Ranulph' s  onset, 
himself  seized  the  Undertaker's  Apprentice,  who, 
drawing  off  with  unruffled  malice,  watched  what  fol- 
lowed with  steely  eyes. 

Dragged  down  by  the  weight  of  the  Apprentice, 
Mattingley's  feet  were  now  firmly  on  the  ground. 
While  the  excited  crowd  tried  to  break  through  the 
cordon  of  mounted  guards,  Mattingley,  by  a  twist  and 
a  jerk,  freed  his  corded  hands.  Loosing  the  rope  at 
his  neck  he  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  around  him, 
dazed  and  dumb.  The  Apprentice  came  forward. 
"  I  '11  shorten  the  rope,  oui-gia !  Then  you  shall  see 
him  swing !  "  he  grumbled  viciously  to  the  Vicomte. 


THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG     343 

The  gaunt  Vicomte  was  trembling  with  excitement. 
He  looked  helplessly  around  him. 

The  Apprentice  caught  hold  of  the  rope  to  tie 
knots  in  it  and  so  shorten  it,  but  Ranulph  again  ap- 
pealed to  the  Vicomte. 

"  You  've  hung  the  man,"  said  he  ;  "  you  've  stran- 
gled him,  and  you  did  n't  kill  him.  You  Ve  got  no 
right  to  put  that  rope  round  his  neck  again  !  " 

Two  jurats  who  had  waited  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
crowd,  furtively  watching  the  effect  of  their  sentence, 
burst  in,  as  distracted  as  the  Vicomte. 

"  Hang  the  man  again  and  the  whole  world  will 
laugh  at  you,"  Ranulph  said.  "If  you're  not  worse 
than  fools  or  Turks  you'll  let  him  go.  He  has  had 
death  already.  Take  him  back  to  the  prison  then,  if 
you  're  afraid  to  free  him  !  "  He  turned  on  the  crowd 
fiercely.  "  Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  this  butchery  ?  " 
he  cried.  "  For  the  love  of  God,  have  n't  you  any- 
thing to  say  ?  " 

Half  the  crowd  shouted  "  Let  him  go  free ! "  and 
the  other  half,  disappointed  in  the  working  out  of  the 
gruesome  melodrama,  groaned  and  hooted. 

Meanwhile  Mattingley  stood  as  still  as  ever  he  had 
stood  by  his  bahue  in  the  Vier  Marchi,  watching  — 
waiting. 

The  Vicomte  conferred  nervously  with  the  jurats 
for  a  moment,  and  then  turned  to  the  guard. 

"  Take  the  prisoner  to  the  Vier  Prison,"  he  said. 

Mattingley  had  been  slowly  solving  the  problem  of 
his  salvation.  His  eye,  like  a  gimlet,  had  screwed  its 
way  through  Ranulph' s  words  into  what  lay  behind, 
and  at  last  he  understood  the  whole  beautiful  scheme. 
It  pleased  him,  Carterette  had  been  worthy  of  herself, 
and  of  him.  Ranulph  had  played  his  game  well,  too. 


344  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

He  only  failed  to  do  justice  to  the  poor  beganne, 
Dormy  Jamais.  But  then  the  virtue  of  fools  is  its 
own  reward. 

As  the  procession  started  back  with  the  Under- 
taker's Apprentice  now  following  after  Mattingley, 
not  going  before,  Mattingley  turned  to  him,  and  with 
a  smile  of  malice  said  :  — 

"  Ch'est  tres  ship-shape,  Maitre  —  eh  !  "  and  he 
jerked  his  head  back  towards  the  inadequate  rope. 

He  was  not  greatly  troubled  about  the  rest  of  this 
grisly  farce.  He  was  now  ready  for  breakfast,  and 
his  appetite  grew  as  he  heard  how  the  crowd  hooted 
and  snarled  yah !  at  the  Undertaker's  Apprentice. 
He  was  quite  easy  about  the  future.  What  had  been 
so  well  done  thus  far  could  not  fail  in  the  end. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

EVENTS  proved  Mattingley  right.  Three  days 
after,  it  was  announced  that  he  had  broken  pri- 
son. It  is  probable  that  the  fury  of  the  Royal  Court 
at  the  news  was  not  quite  sincere,  for  it  was  notable 
that  the  night  of  his  evasion,  suave  and  uncrestfallen, 
they  dined  in  state  at  the  Tres  Pigeons.  The  escape 
gave  them  happy  issue  from  a  quandary. 

The  Vicomte  officially  explained  that  Mattingley 
had  got  out  by  the  dungeon  window.  People  came 
to  see  the  window,  and  there,  ba  su,  the  bars  were 
gone !  But  that  did  not  prove  the  case,  and  the  mys- 
tery was  deepened  by  the  fact  that  Jean  Touzel, 
whose  head  was  too  small  for  Elie's  hat,  could  not  get 
that  same  head  through  the  dungeon  window!  Hav- 
ing proved  so  much,  Jean  left  the  mystery  there,  and 
returned  to  his  Hardi  Biaou. 

This  happened  on  the  morning  after  the  dark  night 
when  Mattingley,  Carterette,  and  Alixandre  hurried 
from  the  Vier  Prison,  through  the  Rue  des  Sablons 
to  the  sea,  and  there  boarded  Ranulph's  boat,  wherein 
was  Olivier  Delagarde  the  traitor. 

Accompanying  Carterette  to  the  shore  was  a  little 
figure  that  moved  along  beside  them  like  a  shadow — 
a  little  gray  figure  that  carried  a  gold-headed  cane. 
At  the  shore  this  same  little  gray  figure  bade  Mat- 
tingley good-by  with  a  quavering  voice.  Whereupon 
Carterette,  her  face  all  wet  with  tears,  kissed  him 


346  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

upon  both  cheeks,  and  sobbed  so  that  she  could 
scarcely  speak.  For  now  when  it  was  all  done  —  all 
the  horrible  ordeal  over  —  the  woman  in  her  broke 
down  before  the  little  old  gentleman,  who  had  been 
like  a  benediction  in  the  house  where  the  ten  com- 
mandments were  imperfectly  upheld.  But  she  choked 
down  her  sobs,  and,  thinking  of  another  more  than  of 
herself,  she  said  :  — 

"  Dear  Chevalier,  do  not  forget  the  book  —  that 
register  —  I  gave  you  to-night.  Read  it  —  read  the 
last  writing  in  it,  and  then  you  will  know  —  ah, 
bidemme  !  —  but  you  will  know  that  her  we  love  — 
ah,  but  you  must  read  it  and  tell  nobody  till  —  till  the 
right  time  comes.  She  has  n't  held  her  tongue  for 
naught,  and  it 's  only  fair  to  do  as  she 's  done  all 
along,  and  hold  ours.  Pardingue,  but  my  heart  hurts 
me  !  "  she  added  suddenly,  and  catching  the  hand  that 
held  the  little  gold  cane  she  kissed  it  with  impulsive 
ardor.  "  You  have  been  so  good  to  me  —  oui-gia  !  " 
she  said  with  a  gulp,  and  then  she  dropped  the  hand 
and  turned  and  fled  to  the  boat  rocking  in  the  surf. 

The  little  Chevalier  watched  the  boat  glide  out  into 
the  gloom  of  night,  and  waited  till  he  knew  that  they 
must  all  be  aboard  Ranulph's  schooner  and  making 
for  the  sea.  Then  he  turned  and  went  back  to  the 
empty  house  in  the  Rue  d'Egypte. 

Opening  the  book  Carterette  had  placed  in  his 
hands  before  they  left  the  house,  he  turned  up  and 
scanned  closely  the  last  written  page.  A  moment 
after,  he  started  violently,  his  eyes  dilating,  first  with 
wonder,  then  with  a  bewildered  joy;  and  then,  Pro- 
testant though  he  was,  with  the  instinct  of  long-gone 
forefathers,  he  made  the  sacred  gesture,  and  said  :  — 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  347 

"  Now  I  have  not  lived  and  loved  in  vain,  thanks  be 
to  God  !  " 

Even  as  joy  opened  wide  the  eyes  of  the  Chevalier, 
who  had  been  sorely  smitten  through  the  friends  of 
his  heart,  out  at  sea  Night  and  Death  were  closing 
the  eyes  of  another  wan  old  man  who  had  been  a 
traitor  to  his  country. 

For  the  boat  of  the  fugitives  had  scarcely  cleared 
reefs  and  rocks,  and  reached  the  open  Channel,  when 
Olivier  Delagarde,  uttering  the  same  cry  as  when 
Ranulph  and  the  soldiers  had  found  him  wounded  in 
the  Grouville  road  fifteen  years  before,  suddenly 
started  up  from  where  he  had  lain  mumbling,  and 
whispering  incoherently,  "  Ranulph  —  they  Ve  killed 
me  !  "  fell  back  dead. 

True  to  the  instinct  which  had  kept  him  faithful  to 
one  idea  for  fifteen  years,  and  in  spite  of  the  protests 
of  Mattingley  and  Carterette,  —  of  the  despairing 
Carterette  who  felt  the  last  thread  of  her  hopes  snap 
with  his  going,  —  Ranulph  made  ready  to  leave  them. 
Bidding  them  good-by,  he  placed  his  father's  body  in 
the  row-boat,  and  pulling  back  to  the  shore  of  St. 
Aubin's  Bay  with  his  pale  freight,  carried  it  on  his 
shoulders  up  to  the  little  house  where  he  had  lived  so 
many  years. 

There  he  kept  the  death-watch  alone. 


CHAPTER    XXXV 

GUI  DA  knew  nothing  of  the  arrest  and  trial  of 
Mattingley  until  he  had  been  condemned  to 
death.  Nor  until  then  did  she  know  anything  of  what 
had  happened  to  Olivier  Delagarde ;  for  soon  after 
her  interview  with  Ranulph  she  had  gone  a-marketing 
to  the  Island  of  Sark,  with  the  results  of  half  a  year's 
knitting.  Her  return  had  been  delayed  by  ugly  gales 
from  the  south-east.  Several  times  a  year  she  made 
this  journey,  landing  at  the  Eperquerie  Rocks  as  she 
had  done  one  day  long  ago,  and  selling  her  beautiful 
wool  caps  and  jackets  to  the  farmers  and  fisher-folk, 
getting  in  kind  for  what  she  gave. 

When  she  made  these  excursions  to  Sark,  Dormy 
Jamais  had  always  remained  at  the  little  house,  milking 
her  cow,  feeding  her  fowls,  and  keeping  all  in  order 
—  as  perfect  a  sentinel  as  old  Biribi,  and  as  faithful. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  however,  Dormy  Jamais 
was  unfaithful.  On  the  day  that  Carcaud  the  baker 
and  Mattingley  were  arrested,  he  deserted  the  hut 
at  Plemont  to  exploit,  with  Ranulph,  the  adventure 
which  was  at  last  to  save  Olivier  Delagarde  and  Mat- 
tingley from  death.  But  he  had  been  unfaithful  only 
in  the  letter  of  his  bond.  He  had  gone  to  the  house 
of  Jean  Touzel,  through  whose  Hardi  Biaou  the  dis- 
aster had  come,  and  had  told  Maitresse  Aimable  that 
she  must  go  to  Plemont  in  his  stead  —  for  a  fool  must 
keep  his  faith  whate'er  the  worldly  wise  may  do.  So 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     349 

the  fat  Femme  de  Ballast,  puffing  with  every  step, 
trudged  across  the  island  to  Plemont,  and  installed 
herself  as  keeper  of  the  house. 

One  day  Maitresse  Aimable's  quiet  was  invaded  by 
two  signalmen  who  kept  watch,  not  far  from  Guida's 
home,  for  all  sail,  friend  or  foe,  bearing  in  sight. 
They  were  now  awaiting  the  new  Admiral  of  the  Jer- 
sey station  and  his  fleet.  With  churlish  insolence 
they  entered  Guida's  hut  before  Maitresse  Aimable 
could  prevent  it.  Looking  round,  they  laughed 
meaningly,  and  then  told  her  that  the  commander 
coming  presently  to  lie  with  his  fleet  in  Grouville  Bay 
was  none  other  than  the  sometime  Jersey  midship- 
man, now  Admiral  Prince  Philip  d'Avranche,  Due  de 
Bercy.  Understanding  then  the  meaning  of  their 
laughter,  and  the  implied  insult  to  Guida,  Maitresse 
Aimable's  voice  came  ravaging  out  of  the  silence  where 
it  lay  hid  so  often  and  so  long,  and  the  signalmen 
went  their  ways  shamefacedly. 

She  could  not  make  head  or  tail  of  her  thoughts 
now,  nor  see  an  inch  before  her  nose ;  all  she  could 
feel  was  an  aching  heart  for  Guida.  She  had  heard 
strange  tales  of  how  Philip  had  become  Prince  Philip 
d'Avranche,  and  husband  of  the  Comtesse  Chanta- 
voine,  and  afterwards  Due  de  Bercy.  Also  she  had 
heard  how  Philip,  just  before  he  became  the  Due  de 
Bercy,  had  fought  his  ship  against  a  French  vessel  off 
Ushant,  and,  though  she  had  heavier  armament  than  his 
own,  had  destroyed  her.  For  this  he  had  been  made 
an  admiral.  Only  the  other  day  her  Jean  had  brought 
the  "  Gazette  de  Jersey  "  in  which  all  these  things  were 
related,  and  had  spelled  them  out  for  her.  And  now 
this  same  Philip  d'Avranche  with  his  new  name  and 
fame  was  on  his  way  to  defend  the  Isle  of  Jersey  ! 


350     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

Maitresse  Aimable's  muddled  mind  could  not  get 
hold  of  this  new  Philip.  For  years  she  had  thought 
him  a  monster,  and  here  he  was,  a  great  and  valiant 
gentleman  to  the  world.  He  had  done  a  thing  that 
Jean  would  rather  have  cut  off  his  hand  —  both  hands 
—  than  do,  and  yet  here  he  was,  an  admiral,  a  prince, 
and  a  sovereign  duke,  and  men  like  Jean  were  as  dust 
beneath  his  feet !  The  real  Philip  she  knew :  he  was 
the  man  who  had  spoiled  the  life  of  a  woman  ;  this 
other  Philip  —  she  could  read  about  him,  she  could 
think  about  him,  just  as  she  could  think  about  William 
and  his  horse  in  Boulay  Bay,  or  the  Little  Bad  Folk 
of  Rocbert ;  but  she  could  not  realize  him  as  a  thing  of 
flesh  and  blood  and  actual  being.  The  more  she  tried 
to  realize  him  the  more  mixed  she  became. 

As  in  her  mental  maze  she  sat  panting  her  way  to 
enlightenment,  she  saw  Guida's  boat  entering  the  lit- 
tle harbor.  Now  the  truth  must  be  told  —  but  how  ? 

After  her  first  exclamation  of  welcome  to  mother 
and  child,  Maitresse  Aimable  struggled  painfully  for 
her  voice.  She  tried  to  find  words  in  which  to  tell 
Guida  the  truth,  but,  stopping  in  despair,  she  sud- 
denly began  rocking  the  child  back  and  forth,  saying 
only,  "Prince  Admiral  he  —  and  now  to  come!  O 
my  good' —  O  my  good  !  " 

Guida's  sharp  intuition  found  the  truth. 

"  Philip  d'Avranche  !  "  she  said  to  herself.  Then 
aloud,  in  a  shaking  voice  —  "  Philip  d'Avranche  !  " 

She  could  not  think  clearly  for  a  moment.  It  was 
as  if  her  brain  had  received  a  blow,  and  in  her  head 
was  a  singing  numbness,  obscuring  eyesight,  hearing, 
speech. 

When  she  had  recovered  a  little  she  took  the  child 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  351 

from  Maitresse  Aimable,  and  pressing  him  to  her 
bosom  placed  him  in  the  Sieur  de  Mauprat's  great 
armchair.  This  action,  ordinary  as  it  seemed,  was 
significant  of  what  was  in  her  mind.  The  child  him- 
self realized  something  unusual,  and  he  sat  perfectly 
still,  two  small  hands  spread  out  on  the  big  arms. 

"You  always  believed  in  me,  'tresse  Aimable," 
Guida  said  at  last  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Oui-gia,  what  else  ?  "  was  the  instant  reply.  The 
quick  responsiveness  of  her  own  voice  seemed  to  con- 
found the  Femme  de  Ballast,  and  her  face  suffused. 

Guida  stooped  quickly  and  kissed  her  on  the  cheek. 

"  You  '11  never  regret  that.  And  you  will  have  to 
go  on  believing  still,  but  you  '11  not  be  sorry  in  the 
end,  'tresse  Aimable,"  she.  said,  and  turned  away  to 
the  fireplace. 

An  hour  afterwards  Maitresse  Aimable  was  upon 
her  way  to  St.  Heliers,  but  now  she  carried  her  weight 
more  easily  and  panted  less.  Twice  within  the  last 
month  Jean  had  given  her  ear  a  friendly  pinch,  and 
now  Guida  had  kissed  her  —  surely  she  had  reason  to 
carry  her  weight  more  lightly. 

That  afternoon  and  evening  Guida  struggled  with 
herself :  the  woman  in  her  shrinking  from  the  ordeal 
at  hand.  But  the  mother  in  her  pleaded,  commanded, 
ruled  confused  emotions  to  quiet.  Finality  of  purpose 
once  determined,  a  kind  of  peace  came  over  her  sick 
spirit,  for  with  finality  there  is  quiescence  if  not  peace. 

When  she  looked  at  the  little  Guilbert,  refined  and 
strong,  curiously  observant,  and  sensitive  in  tempera- 
ment like  herself,  her  courage  suddenly  leaped  to  a 
higher  point  than  it  had  ever  known.  This  innocent 
had  suffered  enough.  What  belonged  to  him  he  had 
not  had.  He  had  been  wronged  in  much  by  his 


352     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

father,  and  maybe  —  and  this  was  the  cruel  part  of 
it  —  had  been  unwittingly  wronged,  alas  !  how  un- 
willingly, by  her !  If  she  gave  her  own  life  many 
times,  it  still  could  be  no  more  than  was  the  child's 
due. 

A  sudden  impulse  seized  her,  and  with  a  quick  ex- 
plosion of  feeling  she  dropped  on  her  knees,  and  look- 
ing into  his  eyes,  as  though  hungering  for  the  words 
she  so  often  yearned  to  hear,  she  said  :  — 

"  You  love  your  mother,  Guilbert  ?  You  love  her, 
little  son  ? " 

With  a  pretty  smile  and  eyes  brimming  with  affec- 
tionate fun,  but  without  a  word,  the  child  put  out  a 
tiny  hand  and  drew  the  fingers  softly  down  his 
mother's  face.  « 

"  Speak,  little  son,  tell  your  mother  that  you  love 
her." 

The  tiny  hand  pressed  itself  over  her  eyes,  and  a 
gay  little  laugh  came  from  the  sensitive  lips,  then 
both  arms  ran  round  her  neck.  The  child  drew  her 
head  to  him  impulsively,  and  kissing  her,  a  little  upon 
the  hair  and  a  little  upon  the  forehead,  so  indefinite 
was  the  embrace,  he  said  :  — 

"  Si,  maman,  I  loves  you  best  of  all !  "  then  added  : 
"  Maman,  can't  I  have  the  sword  now  ?  " 

"You  shall  have  the  sword,  too,  some  day,"  she 
answered,  her  eyes  flashing. 

"  But,  maman,  can't  I  touch  it  now  ?  " 

Without  a  word  she  took  down  the  sheathed  gold- 
handled  sword  and  laid  it  across  the  chair-arms. 

"I  can't  take  the  sword  out,  can  I,  maman?"  he 
asked. 

She  could  not  help  smiling.  "Not  yet,  my  son, 
not  yet." 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     353 

"  I  has  to  be  growed  up  so  the  blade  does  n't  hurt 
me,  has  n't  I,  maman  ? " 

She  nodded  and  smiled  again,  and  went  about  her 
work. 

He  nodded  sagely.  "Maman"  —he  said.  She 
turned  to  him ;  the  little  figure  was  erect  with  a  sweet 
importance.  "Maman,  what  am  I  now — with  the 
sword  ?  "  he  asked,  with  wide-open,  amazed  eyes. 

A  strange  look  passed  across  her  face.  Stooping, 
she  kissed  his  curly  hair. 

"  You  are  my  prince,"  she  said. 

A  little  later  the  two  were  standing  on  that  point 
of  land  called  Grosnez  —  the  brow  of  the  Jersey  tiger. 
Not  far  from  them  was  a  signal-staff  which  telegraphed 
to  another  signal-staff  inland.  Upon  the  staff  now 
was  hoisted  a  red  flag.  Guida  knew  the  signals  well. 
The  red  flag  meant  warships  in  sight.  Then  bags 
were  hoisted  that  told  of  the  number  of  vessels  :  one, 
two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  then  one  next  the  upright, 
meaning  seven.  Last  of  all  came  the  signal  that  a 
flagship  was  among  them. 

This  was  a  fleet  in  command  of  an  admiral.  There, 
not  far  out,  between  Guernsey  and  Jersey,  was  the 
squadron  itself.  Guida  watched  it  for  a  long  while, 
her  heart  hardening  ;  but  seeing  that  the  men  by  the 
signal-staff  were  watching  her,  she  took  the  child  and 
went  to  a  spot  where  they  were  shielded  from  any 
eyes.  Here  she  watched  the  fleet  draw  nearer  and 
nearer. 

The  vessels  passed  almost  within  a  stone's  throw  of 
her.  She  could  see  the  St.  George's  Cross  flying  at 
the  fore  of  the  largest  ship.  That  was  the  admiral's 
flag  —  that  was  the  flag  of  Admiral  Prince  Philip 
d' Avranche,  Due  de  Bercy ! 


354  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

She  felt  her  heart  stand  still  suddenly,  and  with  a 
tremor,  as  of  fear,  she  gathered  her  child  close  to  her. 

"What  is  all  those  ships,  maman?"  asked  the 
child. 

"  They  are  ships  to  defend  Jersey,"  she  said,  watch- 
ing the  Imperturbable  and  its  flotilla  range  on. 

"Will  they  affend  us,  maman  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  —  at  the  last,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

OFF  Grouville  Bay  lay  the  squadron  of  the 
Jersey  station.  The  St.  George's  Cross  was 
flying  at  the  fore  of  the  Imperturbable,  and  on  every 
ship  of  the  fleet  the  white  ensign  flapped  in  the  morn- 
ing wind.  The  wooden-walled  three-decked  flagship, 
with  her  32-pounders,  and  six  hundred  men,  was  not 
less  picturesque  and  was  more  important  than  the 
Castle  of  Mont  Orgueil  near  by,  standing  over  two 
hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea  :  the  home  of 
Philip  d'Avranche,  Due  de  Bercy,  and  the  Comtesse 
Chantavoine,  now  known  to  the  world  as  the  Duchesse 
de  Bercy. 

The  Comtesse  had  arrived  in  the  Island  almost 
simultaneously  with  Philip,  although  he  had  urged  her 
to  remain  at  the  ducal  palace  of  Bercy.  But  the 
duchy  of  Bercy  was  in  hard  case.  When  the  imbe- 
cile Duke  Leopold  John  died  and  Philip  succeeded, 
the  neutrality  of  Bercy  had  been  proclaimed,  but 
this  neutrality  had  since  been  violated,  and  there 
was  danger  at  once  from  the  incursions  of  the  Aus- 
trians  and  the  ravages  of  the  French  troops.  In 
Philip's  absence  the  valiant  governor-general  of  the 
duchy,  aided  by  the  influence  and  courage  of  the 
Comtesse  Chantavoine,  had  thus  far  saved  it  from 
dismemberment,  in  spite  of  attempted  betrayals  by 
Damour  the  Intendant,  who  still  remained  Philip's 
enemy. 


356     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

But  when  the  Marquis  Grand] on-Larisse,  the  uncle 
of  the  Comtesse,  died,  her  cousin,  General  Grand] on- 
Larisse  of  the  Republican  army  —  whose  word  with 
Dalbarade  had  secured  Philip's  release  years  before  — 
for  her  own  safety,  first  urged  and  then  commanded 
her  temporary  absence  from  the  duchy.  So  far  he 
had  been  able  to  protect  it  from  the  fury  of  the  Re- 
publicans and  the  secret  treachery  of  the  Jacobins. 
But  a  time  of  great  peril  was  now  at  hand.  Under 
these  anxieties  and  the  lack  of  other  inspiration  than 
duty,  her  health  had  failed,  and  at  last  she  obeyed  her 
cousin,  joining  Philip  at  the  Castle  of  Mont  Orgueil. 

More  than  a  year  had  passed  since  she  had  seen 
him,  but  there  was  no  emotion,  no  ardor  in  their 
present  greeting.  From  the  first  there  had  been 
nothing  to  link  them  together.  She  had  married, 
hoping  that  she  might  love  thereafter ;  he  in  choler 
and  bitterness,  and  in  the  stress  of  a  desperate 
ambition.  He  had  avoided  the  marriage  so  long  as 
he  might,  in  hope  of  preventing  it  until  the  Duke 
should  die,  but  with  the  irony  of  fate  the  expected 
death  had  come  two  hours  after  the  ceremony. 
Then,  shortly  afterwards,  came  the  death  of  the 
imbecile  Leopold  John  ;  and  Philip  found  himself  the 
Due  de  Bercy,  and  within  a  year,  by  reason  of  a 
splendid  victory  for  the  Imperturbable,  an  admiral. 

Truth  to  tell,  in  this  battle  he  had  fought  for  vic- 
tory for  his  ship  and  a  fall  for  himself  :  for  the  fruit 
he  had  plucked  was  turning  to  dust  and  ashes.  He 
was  haunted  by  the  memory  of  a  wronged  woman,  as 
she  herself  had  foretold.  Death,  with  the  burial  of 
private  dishonor  under  the  roses  of  public  victory  — 
that  had  come  to  be  his  desire.  But  he  had  found 
that  Death  is  willful  and  chooseth  her  own  time  ;  that 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  357 

she  may  be  lured,  but  she  will  not  come  with  shout- 
ing. So  he  had  stoically  accepted  his  fate,  and  could 
even  smile  with  a  bitter  cynicism  when  ordered  to 
proceed  to  the  coast  of  Jersey,  where  collision  with  a 
French  squadron  was  deemed  certain. 

Now,  he  was  again  brought  face  to  face  with  his 
past ;  with  the  imminent  memory  of  Guida  Landresse 
de  Landresse.  Where  was  Guida  now?  What  had 
happened  to  her  ?  He  dared  not  ask,  and  none  told 
him.  Whichever  way  he  turned  —  night  or  day  — 
her  face  haunted  him.  Looking  out  from  the  windows 
of  Mont  Orgueil  Castle,  or  from  the  deck  of  the 
Imperturbable,  he  could  see  —  and  he  could  scarce 
choose  but  see  —  the  lonely  Ecrehos.  There,  with  a 
wild  eloquence,  he  had  made  a  girl  believe  he  loved 
her,  and  had  taken  the  first  step  in  the  path  which 
should  have  led  to  true  happiness  and  honor.  From 
this  good  path  he  had  violently  swerved  —  and  now  ? 

From  all  that  could  be  seen,  however,  the  world 
went  very  well  with  him.  He  was  the  centre  of 
authority.  Almost  any  morning  one  might  have  seen 
a  boat  shoot  out  from  below  the  Castle  wall,  carrying 
a  flag  with  the  blue  ball  of  a  Vice-Admiral  of  the 
White  in  the  canton,  and  as  the  Admiral  himself 
stepped  upon  the  deck  of  the  Imperturbable  between 
saluting  guards,  across  the  water  came  a  gay  march 
played  in  his  honor. 

Jersey  herself  was  elate,  eager  to  welcome  one  of 
her  own  sons  risen  to  such  high  estate.  When,  the 
very  day  after  his  arrival,  he  passed  through  the  Vier 
Marchi  on  his  way  to  visit  the  Lieutenant-Governor, 
the  red-robed  jurats  impulsively  turned  out  to  greet 
him.  They  were  ready  to  prove  that  memory  is  a 
matter  of  will  and  cultivation.  There  is  no  curtain  so 


358  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

opaque  as  that  which  drops  between  the  mind  of  man 
and  the  thing  it  is  advantageous  to  forget.  But  how 
closely  does  the  ear  of  self-service  listen  for  the  foot- 
fall of  a  most  distant  memory,  when  to  do  so  is  to 
share  even  a  reflected  glory  ! 

A  week  had  gone  since  Philip  had  landed  on  the 
Island.  Memories  pursued  him.  If  he  came  by  the 
shore  of  St.  Clement's  Bay,  he  saw  the  spot  where  he 
had  stood  with  her  the  evening  he  married  her,  and 
she  said  to  him  :  "  PJiilip,  I  wonder  wJiat  we  zvill 
think  of  this  day  a  year  from  now  !  .  .  .  To-day  is 
everything  to  yon,  btit  to-morrow  is  very  muck  to  me." 
He  remembered  Shoreham  sitting  upon  the  cromlech 
above  singing  the  legend  of  the  gui-1'annee  —  and 
Shoreham  was  lying  now  a  hundred  fathoms  deep. 

As  he  walked  through  the  Vier  Marchi  with  his 
officers,  there  flashed  before  his  eyes  the  scene  of  six- 
teen years  ago,  when,  through  the  grime  and  havoc  of 
battle,  he  had  run  to  save  Guida  from  the  scimitar  of 
the  garish  Turk.  Walking  through  the  Place  du  Vier 
Prison,  he  recalled  the  morning  when  he  had  rescued 
Ranulph  from  the  hands  of  the  mob.  Where  was 
Ranulph  now  ? 

If  he  had  but  known  it,  that  very  morning  as  he 
passed  Mattingley's  house  Ranulph  had  looked  down 
at  him  with  infinite  scorn  and  loathing  ;  but  with  tri- 
umph, too,  for  the  Chevalier  had  just  shown  him  a 
certain  page  in  a  certain  parish-register  long  lost,  left 
with  him  by  Carterette  Mattingley.  Philip  knew 
naught  of  Ranulph  save  the  story  babbled  by  the 
Islanders.  He  cared  to  hear  of  no  one  but  Guida,  and 
who  was  now  to  mention  her  name  to  him  !  It  was 
long  —  so  long  since  he  had  seen  her  face.  How  many 
years  ago  was  it  ?  Only  five,  and  yet  it  seemed  twenty. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     359 

He  was  a  boy  then ;  now  his  hair  was  streaked 
with  gray.  He  was  light-hearted  then,  and  he  was 
still  buoyant  with  his  fellows,  still  alert  and  vigorous, 
quick  of  speech  and  keen  of  humor  —  but  only  before 
the  world.  In  his  own  home  he  was  fitful  of  mood, 
impatient  of  the  grave,  meditative  look  of  his  wife,  of 
her  resolute  tenacity  of  thought  and  purpose,  of  her 
unvarying  evenness  of  mood,  through  which  no  warmth 
played.  It  seemed  to  him  that  if  she  had  defied  him 
—  given  him  petulance  for  petulance,  impatience  for 
impatience,  it  would  have  been  easier  to  bear.  If  — 
if  he  could  only  read  behind  those  passionless  eyes, 
that  clear,  unwrinkled  forehead  !  But  he  knew  her 
no  better  now  than  he  did  the  day  he  married  her. 
Unwittingly  she  chilled  him,  and  he  felt  he  had  no 
right  to  complain,  for  he  had  done  her  the  greatest 
wrong  which  can  be  done  a  woman.  Whatever 
chanced,  Guida  was  still  his  wife ;  and  there  was  in 
him  yet  the  strain  of  Calvinistic  morality  of  the 
island  race  that  bred  him.  He  had  shrunk  from 
coming  here,  but  it  had  been  far  worse  than  he  had 
looked  for. 

One  day,  in  a  nervous  bitter  moment,  after  an  im- 
patient hour  with  the  Comtesse,  he  had  said,  "Can 
you  —  can  you  not  speak  ?  Can  you  not  tell  me  what 
you  think  ?  "  She  had  answered  quietly  :  — 

"  It  would  do  no  good,  you  would  not  understand. 
I  know  you  in  some  ways  better  than  you  know  your- 
self. I  cannot  tell  what  it  is,  but  there  is  something 
wrong  in  your  nature,  something  that  poisons  your 
life.  And  not  myself  only  has  felt  that.  I  never 
told  you  —  but  you  remember  the  day  the  old  Duke 
died,  the  day  we  were  married  ?  You  had  gone  from 
the  room  a  moment.  The  Duke  beckoned  me  to 


360  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

him,  and  whispered,  '  Don't  be  afraid  —  don't  be 
afraid'  —  and  then  he  died.  That  meant  that  he 
was  afraid,  that  death  had  cleared  his  sight  as  to  you, 
in  some  way.  He  was  afraid  —  of  what  ?  And  I 
have  been  afraid  —  of  what  ?  I  do  not  know.  Things 
have  not  gone  well  somehow.  You  are  strong,  you 
are  brave,  and  I  come  of  a  family  that  have  been 
strong  and  brave.  We  ought  to  be  near :  yet,  yet  we 
are  lonely  and  far  apart,  and  we  shall  never  be  nearer 
or  less  lonely.  That  I  know." 

To  this  he  had  made  no  reply,  and  his  anger  van- 
ished. Something  in  her  words  had  ruled  him  to  her 
own  calmness,  and  at  that  moment  he  had  the  first 
flash  of  understanding  of  her  nature  and  its  true  rela- 
tion to  his  own. 

Passing  through  the  Rue  d'Egypte  this  day  he  met 
Dormy  Jamais.  Forgetful  of  everything  save  that 
this  quaint  foolish  figure  had  interested  him  when  a 
boy,  he  called  him  by  name ;  but  Dormy  Jamais 
swerved  away,  eying  him  askance. 

At  that  instant  he  saw  Jean  Touzel  standing  in  the 
doorway  of  his  house.  A  wave  of  remorseful  feeling 
rushed  over  him.  He  could  wait  no  longer  :  he  would 
ask  Jean  Touzel  and  his  wife  about  Guida.  He  in- 
stantly bethought  him  of  an  excuse  for  the  visit.  His 
squadron  needed  another  pilot ;  he  would  approach 
Jean  in  the  matter. 

Bidding  his  flag-lieutenant  go  on,  to  Elizabeth  Cas- 
tle, whither  they  were  bound,  and  await  him  there,  he 
crossed  over  to  Jean.  By  the  time  he  reached  the 
doorway,  however,  Jean  had  retreated  to  the  veille  by 
the  chimney,  behind  Maitresse  Aimable,  who  sat  in  a 
great  stave-chair  mending  a  net. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  361 

Philip  knocked  and  stepped  inside.  When  Mai- 
tresse  Aimable  saw  who  it  was,  she  was  so  startled 
that  she  dropped  her  work,  and  made  vague  clutches 
to  recover  it.  Stooping,  however,  was  a  great  effort 
for  her.  Philip  instantly  stepped  forward  and  picked 
up  the  net.  Politely  handing  it  to  her,  he  said  :  — 

"  Ah,  Maitresse  Aimable,  it  is  as  if  you  had  never 
stirred  all  these  years !  "  Then,  turning  to  her  hus- 
band, "  I  have  come  looking  for  a  good  pilot,  Jean." 

Maitresse  Aimable  had  at  first  flushed  to  a  purple, 
had  afterwards  gone  pale,  then  recovered  herself,  and 
now  returned  Philip's  look  with  a  downright  steadi- 
ness. Like  Jean,  she  knew  well  enough  he  had  not 
come  for  a  pilot  —  that  was  not  the  business  of  a 
Prince  Admiral.  She  did  not  even  rise.  Philip  might 
be  whatever  the  world  chose  to  call  him,  but  her 
house  was  her  own,  and  he  had  come  uninvited,  and 
he  was  unwelcome. 

She  kept  her  seat,  but  her  fat  head  inclined  once  in 
greeting,  and  she  waited  for  him  to  speak  again.  She 
knew  why  he  had  come ;  and  somehow  the  steady 
look  in  these  slow  brown  eyes,  and  the  blinking 
glance  behind  Jean's  brass-rimmed  spectacles,  discon- 
certed Philip.  Here  were  people  who  knew  the  truth 
about  him,  knew  the  sort  of  man  he  really  was. 
These  poor  folk  who  had  had  nothing  of  the  world 
but  what  they  earned,  they  would  never  hang  on  any 
prince's  favors. 

He  read  the  situation  rightly.  The  penalties  of  his 
life  were  teaching  him  a  discernment  which  could 
never  have  come  to  him  through  good  fortune  alone. 
Having  at  last  discovered  his  real  self  a  little,  he  was 
in  the  way  of  knowing  others. 

"  May  I  shut  the  door  ? "  he  asked  quietly.     Jean 


362  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

nodded.  Closing  it  he  turned  to  them  again.  "  Since 
my  return  I  have  heard  naught  concerning  Mademoi- 
selle Landresse,"  he  said.  "  I  want  to  ask  you  about 
her  now.  Does  she  still  live  in  the  Place  du  Vier 
Prison  ?  " 

Both  Jean  and  Aimable  shook  their  heads.  They 
had  spoken  no  word  since  his  entrance. 

"  She  —  she  is  not  dead  ?  "  he  asked.  They  shook 
their  heads  again.  "Her  grandfather"  —he  paused 
—  "  is  he  living  ?  "  Once  more  they  shook  their  heads 
in  negation.  "  Where  is  mademoiselle  ? "  he  asked, 
sick  at  heart. 

Jean  looked  at  his  wife  ;  neither  moved  nor  an- 
swered. "  Where  does  she  live  ?"  urged  Philip.  Still 
there  was  no  motion,  no  reply.  "  You  might  as  well 
tell  me."  His  tone  was  half  pleading,  half  angry  — 
little  like  a  sovereign  duke,  very  like  a  man  in  trouble. 
"  You  must  know  I  shall  find  out  from  some  one  else, 
then,"  he  continued.  "  But  it  is  better  for  you  to  tell 
me.  I  mean  her  no  harm,  and  I  would  rather  know 
about  her  from  her  friends." 

He  took  off  his  hat  now.  Something  in  the  dignity 
of  these  two  honest  folk  rebuked  the  pride  of  place 
and  spirit  in  him.  As  plainly  as  though  heralds  had 
proclaimed  it,  he  understood  that  these  two  knew  the 
abatements  on  the  shield  of  his  honor  —  argent,  a 
plain  point  tenne,  due  to  him  "  that  tells  lyes  to  his 
Prince  or  General,"  and  argent,  a  gore  sinister  tenne, 
due  for  flying  from  his  colors. 

Maitresse  Aimable  turned  and  looked  towards  Jean, 
but  Jean  turned  away  his  head.  Then  she  did  not 
hesitate.  The  voice  so  oft  eluding  her  will  responded 
readily  now.  Anger  —  plain  primitive  rage  —  pos- 
sessed her.  She  had  had  no  child,  but  as  the  years 


THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG     363 

had  passed  all  the  love  that  might  have  been  given  to 
her  own  was  bestowed  upon  Guida,  and  in  that  mind 
she  spoke. 

"  O  my  grief,  to  think  you  have  come  here  —  you  !  " 
she  burst  forth.  "You  steal  the  best  heart  in  the 
world  —  there  is  none  like  her,  nannin-gia.  You  pro- 
mise her,  you  break  her  life,  you  spoil  her,  and  then 
you  fly  away  —  ah  coward  you !  Man  pethe  benin, 
was  there  ever  such  a  man  like  you !  If  my  Jean 
there  had  done  a  thing  as  that  I  would  sink  him  in 
the  sea — he  would  sink  himself, /<?  me  crais  !  But 
you  come  back  here,  O  my  Mother  of  God,  you  come 
back  here  with  your  sword,  with  your  crown  —  ugh, 
it  is  like  a  black  cat  in  heaven  —  you !  " 

She  got  to  her  feet  more  nimbly  than  she  had  ever 
done  in  her  life,  and  the  floor  seemed  to  heave  as  she 
came  towards  Philip.  "  You  speak  to  me  with  soft 
words,"  she  said  harshly  — •  "  you  shall  have  the  good 
hard  truth  from  me.  You  want  to  know  now  where 
she  is  —  I  ask  where  you  have  been  these  five  years  ! 
Your  voice  it  tremble  when  you  speak  of  her  now. 
Oh  ho !  it  has  been  nice  and  quiet  these  five  years. 
The  grandpethe  of  her  drop  dead  in  his  chair  when 
he  know.  The  world  turn  against  her,  make  light  of 
her,  when  they  know.  All  alone  —  she  is  all  alone, 
but  for  one  fat  old  fool  like  me.  She  bear  all  the 
shame,  all  the  pain,  for  the  crime  of  you.  All  alone 
she  take  her  child  and  go  on  to  the  rock  of  Plemont 
to  live  these  five  years.  But  you,  you  go  and  get  a 
crown  and  be  Amiral  and  marry  a  grande  comtesse  — 
marry,  oh,  je  crais  ben!  This  is  no  world  for  such 
men  like  you.  You  come  to  my  house,  to  the  house 
of  Jean  Touzel,  to  ask  this  and  that  —  well,  you  have 
the  truth  of  God,  ba  su  !  No  good  will  come  to  you 


364  THE*  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

in  the  end,  nannin-gia !  When  you  go  to  die,  you  will 
think  and  think  and  think  of  that  beautiful  Guida 
Landresse  ;  you  will  think  and  think  of  the  heart  you 
kill,  and  you  will  call,  and  she  will  not  come.  You 
will  call  till  'your  throat  rattle,  but  she  will  not  come, 
and  the  child  of  sorrow  you  give  her  will  not  come  — 
no,  bidemme !  E'fin,  the  door  you  shut  you  can  open 
now,  and  you  can  go  from  the  house  of  Jean  Touzel. 
It  belong  to  the  wife  of  an  honest  man  —  maint'nant !  " 

In  the  moment's  silence  that  ensued,  Jean  took  a 
step  forward.  "  Ma  femme,  ma  bonne  femme  !  "  he 
said  with  a  shaking  voice.  Then  he  pointed  to  the 
door. 

Humiliated,  overwhelmed  by  the  words  of  the  wo- 
man, Philip  turned  mechanically  towards  the  door 
without  a  word,  and  his  fingers  fumbled  for  the  latch, 
for  a  mist  was  before  his  eyes.  With  a  great  effort 
he  recovered  himself,  and  passed  slowly  out  into  the 
Rue  d' Egypt e. 

"  A  child  —  a  child  !  "  he  said  brokenly.  "  Guida's 
child  —  my  God  !  And  I  —  have  never  —  known. 
Plemont  —  Plemont,  she  is  at  Plemont  !  "  He  shud- 
dered. "  Guida's  child  —  and  mine  !  "  he  kept  saying 
to  himself,  as  in  a  painful  dream  he  passed  on  to  the 
shore. 

In  the  little  fisherman's  cottage  he  had  left,  a  fat 
old  woman  sat  sobbing  in  the  great  chair  made  of 
barrel-staves,  and  a  man,  stooping,  kissed  her  twice 
on  the  cheek  —  the  first  time  in  fifteen  years.  And 
then  she  both  laughed  and  cried. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII 

GUIDA  sat  by  the  fire  sewing,  Biribi  the  dog  at 
her  feet.  A  little  distance  away,  to  the  right  of 
the  chimney,  lay  Guilbert  asleep.  Twice  she  lowered 
the  work  to  her  lap  to  look  at  the  child,  the  reflected 
light  of  the  fire  playing  on  his  face.  Stretching  out 
her  hand,  she  touched  him,  and  then  she  smiled. 
Hers  was  an  all-devouring  love  ;  the  child  was  her 
whole  life ;  her  own  present  or  future  was  as  nothing ; 
she  was  but  fuel  for  the  fire  of  his  existence. 

A  storm  was  raging  outside.  The  sea  roared  in 
upon  Plemont  and  Grosnez,  battering  the  rocks  in 
futile  agony.  A  hoarse  nor'-easter  ranged  across  the 
tiger's  head  in  helpless  fury :  a  night  of  awe  to  inland 
folk,  and  of  danger  to  seafarers.  To  Guida,  who  was 
both  of  the  sea  and  of  the  land,  fearless  as  to  either, 
it  was  neither  terrible  nor  desolate  to  be  alone  with 
the  storm.  Storm  was  but  power  unshackled,  and 
power  she  loved  and  understood.  She  had  lived  so 
long  in  close  commerce  with  storm  and  sea  that  some- 
thing of  their  keen  force  had  entered  into  her,  and 
she  was  kin  with  them.  Each  wind  to  her  was  inti- 
mate as  a  friend,  each  rock  and  cave  familiar  as  her 
hearthstone ;  and  the  ungoverned  ocean  spoke  in 
terms  intelligible.  So  heavy  was  the  surf  that  now 
and  then  the  spray  of  some  foiled  wave  broke  on  the 
roof,  but  she  only  nodded  at  that,  as  though  the  sea 
were  calling  her  to  come  forth,  tapping  on  her  roof- 
tree  in  joyous  greeting. 


366  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

But  suddenly  she  started  and  bent  her  head.  It 
seemed  as  if  her  whole  body  were  hearkening.  Now 
she  rose  quickly  to  her  feet,  dropped  her  work  upon 
the  table  near  by,  and  rested  herself  against  it,  still 
listening.  She  was  sure  she  heard  a  horse's  hoofs. 
Turning  swiftly,  she  drew  the  curtain  of  the  bed  be- 
fore her  sleeping  child,  and  then  stood  quiet  waiting 
—  waiting.  Her  hand  went  to  her  heart  once  as 
though  its  fierce  throbbing  hurt  her.  Plainly  as 
though  she  could  look  through  these  stone  walls  into 
clear  sunlight,  she  saw  some  one  dismount,  and  she 
heard  a  voice. 

The  door  of  the  hut  was  unlocked  and  unbarred. 
If  she  feared,  it  was  easy  to  shoot  the  bolt  and  lock 
the  door,  to  drop  the  bar  across  the  little  window,  and 
be  safe  and  secure.  But  no  bodily  fear  possessed  her 
—  only  that  terror  of  the  spirit  when  its  great  trial 
comes  suddenly  and  it  shrinks  back,  though  the  mind 
be  of  faultless  courage. 

She  waited.  There  came  a  knocking  at  the  door. 
She  did  not  move  from  where  she  stood. 

"  Come  in,"  she  said.  She  was  composed  and  reso- 
lute now. 

The  latch  clicked,  the  door  opened,  and  a  cloaked 
figure  entered,  the  shriek  of  the  storm  behind.  The 
door  closed  again.  The  intruder  took  a  step  forward, 
his  hat  came  off,  the  cloak  was  loosed  and  dropped 
upon  the  floor.  Guida's  premonition  had  been  right. 
It  was  Philip. 

She  did  not  speak.  A  stone  could  have  been  no 
colder  as  she  stood  in  the  light  of  the  fire,  her  face 
still  and  strong,  the  eyes  darkling,  luminous.  There 
was  on  her  the  dignity  of  the  fearless,  the  pure  in 
heart. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  367 

"Guida!"  Philip  said,  and  took  a  step  nearer,  and 
paused. 

He  was  haggard,  he  had  the  look  of  one  who  had 
come  upon  a  desperate  errand.  When  she  did  not 
answer  he  said  pleadingly  :  — 

"  Guida,  won't  you  speak  to  me  ?  " 

"  Prince  Philip  d'Avranche  chooses  a  strange  hour 
for  his  visit,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  But  see,"  he  answered  hurriedly  ;  "  what  I  have 
to  say  to  you  "  —  he  paused,  as  though  to  choose  the 
thing  he  should  say  first. 

"  You  can  say  nothing  I  need  hear,"  she  answered, 
looking  him  steadily  in  the  eyes. 

"Ah,  Guida,"  he  cried,  disconcerted  by  her  cold 
composure,  "for  God's  sake  listen  to  me!  To-night 
we  have  to  face  our  fate.  To-night  you  have  to 
say  " 

"  Fate  was  faced  long  ago.     I  have  nothing  to  say." 

"  Guida,  I  have  repented  of  all.  I  have  come  now 
only  to  speak  honestly  of  the  wrong  I  did  you.  I 
have  come  to  " 

Scorn  sharpened  her  words,  though  she  spoke 
calmly :  "  You  have  forced  yourself  upon  a  woman's 
presence  —  and  at  this  hour  ! " 

"  I  chose  the  only  hour  possible,"  he  answered 
quickly.  "  Guida,  the  past  cannot  be  changed,  but 
we  have  the  present  and  the  future  still.  I  have  not 
come  to  justify  myself,  but  to  find  a  way  to  atone." 

"No  atonement  is  possible." 

"  You  cannot  deny  me  the  right  to  confess  to  you 
that"- 

"To  you  denial  should  not  seem  hard  usage,"  she 
answered  slowly,  "and  confession  should  have  wit- 
nesses if  "  — 


368     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

She  paused  suggestively.  The  imputation  that  he 
of  all  men  had  the  least  right  to  resent  denial ;  that, 
dishonest  still,  he  was  willing  to  justify  her  privately 
though  not  publicly  ;  that  repentance  should  have 
been  open  to  the  world  —  it  all  stung  him. 

He  threw  out  his  hands  in  a  gesture  of  protest. 
"As  many  witnesses  as  you  will,  but  not  now,  not 
this  hour,  after  all  these  years.  Will  you  not  at  least 
listen  to  me,  and  then  judge  and  act  ?  Will  you  not 
hear  me,  Guida?" 

She  had  not  yet  even  stirred.  Now  that  it  had 
come,  this  scene  was  all  so  different  from  what  she 
might  have  imagined.  But  she  spoke  out  of  a  merci- 
less understanding,  an  unchangeable  honesty.  Her 
words  came  clear  and  pitiless  :  — 

"  If  you  will  speak  to  the  point  and  without  a  use- 
less emotion,  I  will  try  to  listen.  Common  kindness 
should  have  prevented  this  intrusion  —  by  you  !  " 

Every  word  she  said  was  like  a  whip-lash  across  his 
face.  A  devilish  light  leaped  into  his  eye,  but  it 
faded  as  quickly  as  it  came. 

"After  to-night,  to  the  public  what  you  will,"  he 
repeated  with  dogged  persistence,  "  but  it  was  right 
we  should  speak  alone  to  each  other  at  least  this  once 
—  before  the  open  end.  I  did  you  wrong,  yet  I  did 
not  mean  to  ruin  your  life,  and  you  should  know  that. 
I  ought  not  to  have  married  you  secretly ;  I  acknow- 
ledge that.  But  I  loved  you  " 

She  shook  her  head,  and  with  a  smile  of  pitying 
disdain  —  he  could  so  little  see  the  real  truth,  his  real 
misdemeanor  —  she  said  :  "  Oh  no,  never  —  never  ! 
You  were  not  capable  of  love  ;  you  never  knew  what 
it  means.  From  the  first  you  were  too  untrue  ever 
to  love  a  woman.  There  was  a  great  fire  of  emotion, 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  369 

you  saw  shadows  on  the  wall,  and  you  fell  in  love  with 
them.  That  was  all." 

"I  tell  you  that  I  loved  you,"  he  answered  with 
passionate  energy.  "  But  as  you  will.  Let  it  be  that 
it  was  not  real  love  :  at  least  it  was  all  there  was  in 
me  to  give.  I  never  meant  to  desert  you.  I  never 
meant  to  disavow  our  marriage.  I  denied  you,  you 
will  say.  I  did.  In  the  light  of  what  came  after,  it 
was  dishonorable  —  I  grant  that ;  but  I  did  it  at  a 
crisis  and  for  the  fulfillment  of  a  great  ambition  — 
and  as  much  for  you  as  for  me." 

"That  was  the  least  of  your  evil  work.  But  how 
little  you  know  what  true  people  think  or  feel !  "  she 
answered  with  a  kind  of  pain  in  her  voice,  for  she  felt 
that  such  a  nature  could  never  even  realize  its  own 
enormities.  Well,  since  it  had  gone  so  far  she  would 
speak  openly,  though  it  hurt  her  sense  of  self-respect. 

"  For  that  matter,  do  you  think  that  I  or  any  good 
woman  would  have  had  place  or  power,  been  princess 
or  duchess,  at  the  price?  What  sort  of  mind  have 
you  ?  "  She  looked  him  straight  in  the  eyes.  "  Put 
it  in  the  clear  light  of  right  and  wrong,  it  was  knavery. 
You  —  you  talk  of  not  meaning  to  do  me  harm !  You 
were  never  capable  of  doing  me  good.  It  was  not  in 
you.  From  first  to  last  you  are  untrue.  Were  it 
otherwise,  were  you  not  from  first  to  last  unworthy, 
would  you  have  —  but  no,  your  worst  crime  need  not 
be  judged  here!  Yet  had  you  one  spark  of  worthi- 
ness would  you  have  made  a  mock  marriage  —  it  is  no 
more  —  with  the  Comtesse  Chantavoine  ?  No  matter 
what  I  said  or  what  I  did  in  anger,  or  contempt  of 
you,  had  you  been  an  honest  man  you  would  not  have 
so  ruined  another  life.  Marriage,  alas  !  You  have 
wronged  the  Comtesse  worse  than  you  have  wronged 


370  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

me.  One  day  I  shall  be  righted,  but  what  can  you 
say  or  do  to  right  her  wrongs  ? " 

Her  voice  had  now  a  piercing  indignation  and  force. 
"  Yes,  Philip  d'Avranche,  it  is  as  I  say,  justice  will 
come  to  me.  The  world  turned  against  me  because  of 
you  ;  I  have  been  shamed  and  disgraced.  For  years 
I  have  suffered  in  silence.  But  I  have  waited  without 
fear  for  the  end.  God  is  with  me.  He  is  stronger 
than  fortune  or  fate.  He  has  brought  you  to  Jersey 
once  more,  to  right  my  wrongs,  mine  and  my  child's." 

She  saw  his  eyes  flash  to  the  little  curtained  bed. 
They  both  stood  silent  and  still.  He  could  hear  the 
child  breathing.  His  blood  quickened.  An  impulse 
seized  him.  He  took  a  step  towards  the  bed,  as  though 
to  draw  the  curtain,  but  she  quickly  moved  between. 

"  Never  !  "  she  said  in  a  low  stern  tone  ;  "  no  touch 
of  yours  for  my  Guilbert  — for  my  son  !  Every  min- 
ute of  his  life  has  been  mine.  He  is  mine  — all  mine 
—  and  so  he  shall  remain.  You  who  gambled  with 
the  name,  the  fame,  the  very  soul  of  your  wife,  you 
shall  not  have  one  breath  of  her  child's  life  !  " 

It  was  as  if  the  outward  action  of  life  was  suspended 
in  them  for  a  moment,  and  then  came  the  battle  of 
two  strong  spirits  :  the  struggle  of  fretful  and  indulged 
egotism,  the  impulse  of  a  vigorous  temperament, 
against  a  deep  moral  force,  a  high  purity  of  mind  and 
conscience,  and  the  invincible  love  of  the  mother  for 
the  child.  Time,  bitterness,  and  power  had  hardened 
Philip's  mind,  and  his  long-restrained  emotions,  break- 
ing loose  now,  made  him  a  passionate  and  willful 
figure.  His  force  lay  in  the  very  unruliness  of  his 
spirit,  hers  in  the  perfect  command  of  her  moods  and 
emotions.  Well  equipped  by  the  thoughts  and  suffer- 
ings of  five  long  years,  her  spirit  was  trained  to  meet 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  371 

this  onset  with  fiery  wisdom.  They  were  like  two 
armies  watching  each  other  across  a  narrow  stream, 
between  one  conflict  and  another. 

For  a  minute  they  stood  at  gaze.  The  only  sounds 
in  the  room  were  the  whirring  of  the  fire  in  the 
chimney  and  the  child's  breathing.  At  last  Philip's 
intemperate  self-will  gave  way.  There  was  no  with- 
standing that  cold,  still  face,  that  unwavering  eye. 
Only  brutality  could  go  further.  The  nobility  of  her 
nature,  her  inflexible  straightforwardness  came  upon 
him  with  overwhelming  force.  Dressed  in  molleton, 
with  no  adornment  save  the  glow  of  a  perfect  health, 
she  seemed  at  this  moment,  as  on  the  Ecrehos,  the 
one  being  on  earth  worth  living  and  caring  for. 
What  had  he  got  for  all  the  wrong  he  had  done  her  ? 
Nothing.  Come  what  might,  there  was  one  thing 
that  he  could  yet  do,  and  even  as  the  thought  pos- 
sessed him  he  spoke. 

"  Guida,"  he  said  with  rushing  emotion,  "  it  is  not 
too  late.  Forgive  the  past  —  the  wrong  of  it,  the 
shame  of  it.  You  are  my  wife ;  nothing  can  undo 
that.  The  other  woman  —  she  is  nothing  to  me.  If 
we  part  and  never  meet  again  she  will  suffer  no  more 
than  she  suffers  to  go  on  with  me.  She  has  never 
loved  me,  nor  I  her.  Ambition  did  it  all,  and  of 
ambition  God  knows  I  have  had  enough !  Let  me 
proclaim  our  marriage,  let  me  come  back  to  you. 
Then,  happen  what  will,  for  the  rest  of  our  lives  I 
will  try  to  atone  for  the  wrong  I  did  you.  I  want 
you,  I  want  our  child.  I  want  to  win  your  love  again. 
I  can't  wipe  out  what  I  have  done,  but  I  can  put  you 
right  before  the  world,  I  can  prove  to  you  that  I  set 
you  above  place  and  ambition.  If  you  shrink  from 
doing  it  for  me,  do  it "  -  he  glanced  towards  the  bed 


372  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

—  "  do  it  for  our  child.  To-morrow  —  to-morrow  it 
shall  be,  if  you  will  forgive.  To-morrow  let  us  start 
again  —  Guida  —  Guida  !  " 

She  did  not  answer  at  once  ;  but  at  last  she  said :  — 

"  Giving  up  place  and  ambition  would  prove  nothing 
now.  It  is  easy  to  repent  when  our  pleasures  have 
palled.  I  told  you  in  a  letter  four  years  ago  that 
your  protests  came  too  late.  They  are  always  too 
late.  With  a  nature  like  yours  nothing  is  sure  or 
lasting.  Everything  changes  with  the  mood.  It  is 
different  with  me :  I  speak  only  what  I  truly  mean. 
Believe  me,  for  I  tell  you  the  truth,  you  are  a  man 
that  a  woman  could  forget  but  could  never  forgive. 
As  a  prince  you  are  much  better  than  as  a  plain  man, 
for  princes  may  do  what  other  men  may  not.  It  is 
their  way  to  take  all  and  give  nothing.  You  should 
have  been  born  a  prince,  then  all  your  actions  would 
have  seemed  natural.  Yet  now  you  must  remain  a 
prince,  for  what  you  got  at  such  a  price  to  others  you 
must  pay  for.  You  say  you  would  come  down  from 
your  high  place,  you  would  give  up  your  worldly  hon- 
ors, for  me.  What  madness  !  You  are  not  the  kind 
of  man  with  whom  a  woman  could  trust  herself  in 
the  troubles  and  changes  of  life.  Laying  all  else 
aside,  if  I  would  have  had  naught  of  your  honors  and 
your  duchy  long  ago,  do  you  think  I  would  now  share 
a  disgrace  from  which  you  could  never  rise  ?  For  in 
my  heart  I  feel  that  this  remorse  is  but  caprice.  It 
is  to-day ;  it  may  not  — will  not  —  be  to-morrow." 

"  You  are  wrong,  you  are  wrong.  I  am  honest 
with  you  now,"  he  broke  in. 

"  No,"  she  answered  coldly,  "  it  is  not  in  you  to  be 
honest.  Your  words  have  no  ring  of  truth  in  my 
ears,  for  the  note  is  the  same  as  I  heard  once  upon 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  373 

the  Ecrehos.  I  was  a  young  girl  then  and  I  believed  ; 
I  am  a  woman  now,  and  I  should  still  disbelieve 
though  all  the  world  were  on  your  side  to  declare  me 
wrong.  I  tell  you  "  —  her  voice  rose  again,  it  seemed 
to  catch  the  note  of  freedom  and  strength  of  the 
storm  without  —  "I  tell  you,  I  will -still  live  as  my 
heart  and  conscience  prompt  me.  The  course  I  have 
set  for  myself  I  will  follow ;  the  life  I  entered  upon 
when  my  child  was  born  I  will  not  leave.  No  word 
you  have  said  has  made  my  heart  beat  faster.  You 
and  I  can  never  have  anything  to  say  to  each  other 
in  this  life,  beyond  "  —  her  voice  changed,  she  paused 
—  "  beyond  one  thing  "  — 

Going  to  the  bed  where  the  child  lay,  she  drew  the 
curtain  softly,  and  pointing,  she  said  :  — 

"  There  is  my  child.  I  have  set  my  life  to  the  one 
task,  to  keep  him  to  myself,  and  yet  to  win  for  him 
the  heritage  of  the  dukedom  of  Bercy.  You  shall 
yet  pay  to  him  the  price  of  your  wrong-doing." 

She  drew  back  slightly  so  that  he  could  see  the 
child  lying  with  its  rosy  face  half  buried  in  its  pillow, 
the  little  hand  lying  like  a  flower  upon  the  coverlet. 

Once  more  with  a  passionate  exclamation  he  moved 
nearer  to  the  child. 

"  No  farther !  "  she  said,  stepping  before  him. 

When  she  saw  the  wild  impulse  in  his  face -to 
thrust  her  aside,  she  added,  "  It  is  only  the  shameless 
coward  that  strikes  the  dead !  You  had  a  wife  — 
Guida  d'Avranche,  but  Guida  d'Avranche  is  dead. 
There  only  lives  the  mother  of  this  child,  Guida 
Landresse  de  Landresse." 

She  looked  at  him  with  scorn,  almost  with  hatred. 
Had  he  touched  her  —  but  she  would  rather  pity  than 
loathe ! 


374     THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG 

Her  words  roused  all  the  devilry  in  him.  The  face 
of  the  child  had  set  him  mad. 

"  By  Heaven,  I  will  have  the  child  —  I  will  have 
the  child  ! "  he  broke  out  harshly.  "  You  shall  not 
treat  me  like  a  dog.  You  know  well  I  would  have 
kept  you  as  my  wife,  but  your  narrow  pride,  your 
unjust  anger  threw  me  over.  You  have  wronged 
me.  I  tell  you  you  have  wronged  me,  for  you  held 
the  secret  of  the  child  from  me  all  these  years." 

"  The  whole  world  knew  ! "  she  exclaimed  indig- 
nantly. 

"  I  will  break  your  pride !  "  he  said,  incensed  and 
unable  to  command  himself.  "  Mark  you,  I  will 
break  your  pride.  And  I  will  have  my  child  too !  " 

"Establish  to  the  world  your  right  to  him,"  she 
answered  keenly.  "  You  have  the  right  to  acknow- 
ledge him,  but  the  possession  shall  be  mine." 

He  was  the  picture  of  impotent  anger  and  despair. 
It  was  the  irony  of  penalty  that  the  one  person  in 
the  world  who  could  really  sting  him  was  this  un- 
acknowledged, almost  unknown  woman.  She  was 
the  only  human  being  that  had  power  to  shatter  his 
egotism  and  resolve  him  into  the  common  elements 
of  a  base  manhood.  Of  little  avail  his  eloquence  now  ! 
He  had  cajoled  a  sovereign  dukedom  out  of  an  aged 
and  fatuous  prince;  he  had  cajoled  a  wife,  who  yet 
was  no  wife,  from  among  the  highest  of  a  royal  court ; 
he  had  cajoled  success  from  Fate  by  a  valor  informed 
with  vanity  and  ambition  ;  years  ago,  with  eloquent 
arts  he  had  cajoled  a  young  girl  into  a  secret  marriage 
—  but  he  could  no  longer  cajole  the  woman  who  was 
his  one  true  wife.  She  knew  him  through  and 
through. 

He  was   so  wild  with  rage  he  could  almost  have 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  375 

killed  her  as  she  stood  there,  one  hand  stretched  out 
to  protect  the  child,  the  other  pointing  to  the  door. 

He  seized  his  hat  and  cloak  and  laid  his  hand  upon 
the  latch,  then  suddenly  turned  to  her.  A  dark  pro- 
ject came  to  him.  He  himself  could  not  prevail  with 
her  ;  but  he  would  reach  her  yet  through  the  child ! 
If  the  child  were  in  his  hands,  she  would  come  to 
him. 

"  Remember,  I  will  have  the  child ! "  he  said,  his 
face  black  with  evil  purpose. 

She  did  not  deign  reply,  but  stood  fearless  and 
still,  as,  throwing  open  the  door,  he  rushed  out  into 
the  night. 

She  listened  until  she  heard  his  horse's  hoofs  upon 
the  rocky  upland.  Then  she  went  to  the  door, 
locked  it,  and  barred  it.  Turning,  she  ran  with  a  cry 
as  of  hungry  love  to  the  little  bed.  Crushing  the 
child  to  her  bosom,  she  buried  her  face  in  his  brown 
curls. 

"  My  son,  my  own  own  son  !  "  she  said. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII 

IF  at  times  it  would  seem  that  Nature's  disposition 
of  the  events  of  a  life  or  a  series  of  lives  is  illogi- 
cal, at  others  she  would  seem  to  play  them  with  an 
irresistible  logic  —  loosing  them,  as  it  were,  in  a  track- 
less forest  of  experience,  and  in  some  dramatic  hour, 
by  an  inevitable  attraction,  drawing  them  back  again 
to  a  destiny  fulfilled.  In  this  latter  way  did  she  seem 
to  lay  her  hand  upon  the  lives  of  Philip  d'Avranche 
and  Guida  Landresse. 

At  the  time  that  Elie  Mattingley,  in  Jersey,  was 
awaiting  hanging  on  the  Mont  es  Pendus,  and  writing 
his  letter  to  Carterette  concerning  the  stolen  book  of 
church  records,  in  a  town  of  Brittany  the  Reverend 
Lorenzo  Dow  lay  dying.  The  army  of  the  Vendee, 
under  De'tricand  Comte  de  Tournay,  had  made  a  last 
dash  at  a  small  town  held  by  a  section  of  the  Repub- 
lican army,  and  captured  it.  On  the  prisons  being 
opened,  Detricand  had  discovered  in  a  vile  dungeon 
the  sometime  curate  of  St.  Michael's  Church  in  Jer- 
sey. When  they  entered  on  him,  wasted  and  ragged 
he  lay  asleep  on  his  bed  of  rotten  straw,  his  fingers 
between  the  leaves  of  a  book  of  meditations.  Cap- 
tured five  years  before  and  forgotten  alike  by  the 
English  and  French  Governments,  he  had  apatheti- 
cally pined  and  starved  to  these  last  days  of  his  life. 

Recognizing  him,  Detricand  carried  him  in  his  strong 
arms  to  his  own  tent.  For  many  hours  the  helpless 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG      377 

man  lay  insensible,  but  at  last  the  flickering  spirit 
struggled  back  to  light  for  a  little  space.  When  first 
conscious  of  his  surroundings,  the  poor  captive  felt 
tremblingly  in  the  pocket  of  his  tattered  vest.  Not 
finding  what  he  searched  for,  he  half  started  up. 
Detricand  hastened  forward  with  a  black  leather-cov- 
ered book  in  his  hand.  Mr.  Dow's  thin  trembling 
fingers  clutched  eagerly  —  it  was  his  only  passion  — 
at  this  journal  of  his  life.  As  his  grasp  closed  on  it, 
he  recognized  Detricand,  and  at  the  same  time  he  saw 
the  cross  and  heart  of  the  Vendee  on  his  coat. 

A  victorious  little  laugh  struggled  in  his  throat. 
"  The  Lord  hath  triumphed  gloriously  !  —  I  could 
drink  some  wine,  monsieur,"  he  added  in  the  same 
quaint  clerical  monotone. 

Having  drunk  the  wine  he  lay  back  murmuring 
thanks  and  satisfaction,  his  eyes  closed.  Presently 
they  opened.  He  nodded  at  Detricand. 

"  I  have  not  tasted  wine  these  five  years,"  he  said, 
then  added,  "  you  —  you  took  too  much  wine  in  Jer- 
sey, did  you  not,  monsieur  ?  I  used  to  say  an  office 
for  you  every  Litany  day,  which  was  of  a  Friday." 

His  eyes  again  caught  the  cross  and  heart  on  Detri- 
cand's  coat,  and  they  lighted  up  a  little.  "  The  Lord 
hath  triumphed  gloriously ! "  he  repeated,  and  added 
irrelevantly,  "  I  suppose  you  are  almost  a  captain 
now?  " 

"A  general  —  almost,"  said  Detricand  with  gentle 
humor. 

At  that  moment  an  orderly  appeared  at  the  tent- 
door,  bearing  a  letter  for  Detricand. 

"  From  General  Grandjon-Larisse  of  the  Republican 
army,  your  highness,"  said  the  orderly,  handing  the 
letter.  "  The  messenger  awaits  an  answer." 


378     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

As  Detricand  hastily  read,  a  look  of  astonishment 
crossed  over  his  face,  and  his  brows  gathered  in 
perplexity.  After  a  minute's  silence  he  said  to  the 
orderly :  — 

"  I  will  send  a  reply  to-morrow." 

"Yes,  your  highness."  The  orderly  saluted  and 
retired. 

Mr.  Dow  half  raised  himself  on  his  couch,  and  the 
fevered  eyes  swallowed  Detricand. 

"  You  —  you  are  a  prince,  monsieur  ? "  he  said. 

Detricand  glanced  up  from  the  letter  he  was  reading 
again,  a  grave  and  troubled  look  on  his  face. 

"  Prince  of  Vaufontaine  they  call  me,  but,  as  you 
know,  I  am  only  a  vagabond  turned  soldier,"  he  said. 

The  dying  man  smiled  to  himself,  — a  smile  of  the 
sweetest  vanity  this  side  of  death,  —  for  it  seemed 
to  him  that  the  Lord  had  granted  him  this  brand 
from  the  burning,  and  in  supreme  satisfaction,  he 
whispered :  — 

"  I  used  to  say  an  office  for  you  every  Litany  — 
which  was  a  Friday,  and  twice,  I  remember,  on  two 
Saints'  days." 

Suddenly  another  thought  came  to  him,  and  his 
lips  moved  —  he  was  murmuring  to  himself.  He 
would  leave  a  goodly  legacy  to  the  captive  of  his 
prayers. 

Taking  the  leather-covered  journal  of  his  life  in 
both  hands,  he  held  it  out. 

"  Highness,  highness  "  —  said  he.  Death  was  break- 
ing the  voice  in  his  throat. 

Detricand  stooped  and  ran  an  arm  round  his  shoul- 
der, but  raising  himself  up  Mr.  Dow  gently  pushed 
him  back.  The  strength  of  his  supreme  hour  was  on 
him. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     379 

"  Highness,"  said  he,  "  I  give  you  the  book  of  five 
years  of  my  life  —  not  of  its  every  day,  but  of  its 
moments,  its  great  days.  Read  it,"  he  added,  "read 
it  wisely.  Your  own  name  is  in  it  —  with  the  first 
time  I  said  an  office  for  you."  His  breath  failed  him, 
he  fell  back,  and  lay  quiet  for  several  minutes. 

"  You  used  to  take  too  much  wine,"  he  said  half- 
wildly,  starting  up  again.  "  Permit  me  your  hand, 
highness." 

Detricand  dropped  on  his  knee  and  took  the  wasted 
hand.  Mr.  Dow's  eyes  were  glazing  fast.  With  a 
last  effort  he  spoke  —  his  voice  like  a  squeaking  wind 
in  a  pipe  :  — 

"The  Lord  hath  triumphed  gloriously" — and  he 
leaned  forward  to  kiss  Detricand's  hand. 

But  Death  intervened,  and  his  lips  fell  instead  upon 
the  red  cross  on  Detricand's  breast,  as  he  sank  forward 
lifeless. 

That  night,  after  Lorenzo  Dow  was  laid  in  his 
grave,  Detricand  read  the  little  black  leather-covered 
journal  bequeathed  to  him.  Of  the  years  of  his  cap- 
tivity the  records  were  few ;  the  book  was  chiefly 
concerned  with  his  career  in  Jersey.  Detricand  read 
page  after  page,  more  often  with  a  smile  than  not ; 
yet  it  was  the  smile  of  one  who  knew  life  and  would 
scarce  misunderstand  the  eccentric  and  honest  soul  of 
the  Reverend  Lorenzo  Dow. 

Suddenly,  however,  he  started,  for  he  came  upon 
these  lines  :  — 

"  /  have,  in  great  privacy  and  with  halting  of  spirit,  married,  this 
day  the  third  of  January,  Mr.  Philip  d1  Avranche  of  His  Majesty's 
ship  Narcissus,  and  Mistress  Guida  Landresse  de  Landresse, 
both  of  this  Island  of  Jersey  ;  by  special  license  of  the  Bishop  of 
Winchester," 


380     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 
To  this  was  added  in  comment :  — 

"  Unchurchmanlike,  and  most  irregular.  But  the  young  gentleman's 
tongue  is  gifted,  and  he  pressed  his  cause  heartily.  Also  Mr. 
Shoreham  of  the  Narcissus  — '  Mad  Shoreham  of  Galway '  his 
father  was  called  —  I  knew  him  —  added  his  voice  to  the  request 
also.  Troubled  in  conscience  thereby,  yet  I  did  marry  the 
twain  gladly,  for  I  think  a  worthier  maid  never  lived  than  this 
same  Mistress  Guida  Landresse  de  Landresse,  of  the  ancient 
family  of  the  de  Mauprats.  Yet  I  like  not  secrecy,  though  it  be 
but  for  a  month  or  two  months  —  on  my  vow,  I  like  it  not  for 
one  hour. 

"Note:  At  leisure  read  of  the  family  history  of  the  de  Mauprats 
and  the  d'Avranches. 

"  N. :  No  more  secret  marriages  nor  special  licenses  —  most  un- 
canonical  privileges  ! 

a  N. :  For  ease  of  conscience  write  to  His  Grace  at  Lambeth  upon 
the  point." 

Detricand  sprang  to  his  feet.  So  this  was  the 
truth  about  Philip  d'Avranche,  about  Guida,  alas ! 

He  paced  the  tent,  his  brain  in  a  whirl.  Stopping 
at  last,  he  took  from  his  pocket  the  letter  received 
that  afternoon  from  General  Grandjon-Larisse,  and 
read  it  through  again  hurriedly.  It  proposed  a  truce, 
and  a  meeting  with  himself  at  a  village  near,  for  con- 
ference upon  the  surrender  of  Detricand's  small  army. 

"  A  bitter  end  to  all  our  fighting,"  said  Detricand 
aloud  at  last.  "  But  he  is  right.  It  is  now  a  mere 
waste  of  life.  I  know  my  course.  .  .  .  Even  to- 
night," he  added,  "it  shall  be  to-night." 

Two  hours  later  Detricand,  Prince  of  Vaufontaine, 
was  closeted  with  General  Grandjon-Larisse  at  a  vil- 
lage halfway  between  the  Republican  army  and  the 
broken  bands  of  the  Vendee. 

As  lads  D6tricand  and  Grandjon-Larisse  had  known 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     381 

each  other  well.  But  since  the  war  began  Grand]  on- 
Larisse  had  gone  one  way,  and  he  had  gone  the  other, 
bitter  enemies  in  principle  but  friendly  enough  at 
heart.  They  had  not  seen  each  other  since  the  year 
before  Rullecour's  invasion  of  Jersey. 

"  I  had  hoped  to  see  you  by  sunset,  monseigneur," 
said  Grandjon-Larisse  after  they  had  exchanged  greet- 
ings. 

"  It  is  through  a  melancholy  chance  you  see  me  at 
all,"  replied  Detricand  heavily. 

"  To  what  piteous  accident  am  I  indebted  ? " 
Grandjon-Larisse  replied  in  an  acid  tone,  for  war  had 
given  his  temper  an  edge.  "Were  not  my  reasons 
for  surrender  sound  ?  I  eschewed  eloquence  —  I  gave 
you  facts." 

Detricand  shook  his  head,  but  did  not  reply  at  once. 
His  brow  was  clouded. 

"Let  me  speak  fully  and  bluntly  now,"  Grandjon- 
Larisse  went  on.  "You  will  not  shrink  from  plain 
truths,  I  know.  We  were  friends  ere  you  went  adven- 
turing with  Rullecour.  We  are  soldiers  too ;  and  you 
will  understand  I  meant  no  bragging  in  my  letter." 

He  raised  his  brows  inquiringly,  and  Detricand 
inclined  his  head  in  assent. 

Without  more  ado,  Grandjon-Larisse  laid  a  map  on 
the  table.  "  This  will  help  us,"  he  said  briefly,  then 
added  :  "  Look  you,  Prince,  when  war  began  the  game 
was  all  with  you.  At  Thouars  here "  —  his  words 
followed  his  finger  —  "  at  Fontenay,  at  Saumur,  at 
Torfou,  at  Coron,  at  Chateau-Gonthier,  at  Pontorson, 
at  Dol,  at  Antrain,  you  had  us  by  the  heels.  Victory 
was  ours  once  to  your  thrice.  Your  blood  was  up. 
You  had  great  men  —  great  men,"  he  repeated 
politely. 


382  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

Detricand  bowed.  "  But  see  how  all  is  changed," 
continued  the  other.  "  See  :  by  this  forest  of  Vesins 
de  la  Rochejaquelein  fell.  At  Chollet "  —his  finger 
touched  another  point  —  "  Bonchamp  died,  and  here 
d'Elbee  and  Lescure  were  mortally  wounded.  At 
Angers,  Stofflet  was  sent  to  his  account,  and  Charette 
paid  the  price  at  Nantes."  He  held  up  his  fingers. 
"One  —  two  —  three  —  four  —  five — six  great  men 
gone  ! "  He  paused,  took  a  step  away  from  the  table, 
and  came  back  again. 

Once  more  he  dropped  his  finger  on  the  map. 
"  Tinteniac  is  gone,  and  at  Quiberon  Peninsula  your 
friend  Sombreuil  was  slain.  And  look  you  here,"  he 
added  in  a  lower  voice,  "  at  Laval  my  old  friend  the 
Prince  of  Talmont  was  executed  at  his  own  chateau, 
where  I  had  spent  many  an  hour  with  him." 

Detricand's  eyes  flashed  fire.  "Why  then  permit 
the  murder,  Monsieur  le  General  ?  " 

Grand] on- Larisse  started,  his  voice  became  hard  at 
once.  "  It  is  not  a  question  of  Talmont,  or  of  you, 
or  of  me,  monseigneur.  It  is  not  a  question  of  friend- 
ship, not  even  of  father,  or  brother,  or  son  —  but  of 
France !  " 

"And  of  God  and  the  King,"  said  Detricand 
quickly. 

Grand] on-Larisse  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "We 
see  with  different  ~eyes.  We  think  with  different 
minds,"  and  he  stooped  over  the  map  again. 

"We  feel  with  different  hearts,"  said  Detricand. 
"  There  is  the  difference  between  us  —  between  your 
cause  and  mine.  You  are  all  for  logic  and  perfection 
in  government,  and  to  get  it  you  go  mad,  and  France 
is  made  a  shambles  " 

"  War  is  cruelty,  and  none  can  make  it  gentle," 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     383 

interrupted  Grandjon-Larisse.  He  turned  to  the 
map  once  more.  "  And  see,  monseigneur,  here  at 
La  Vie  your  uncle  the  Prince  of  Vaufontaine  died, 
leaving  you  his  name  and  a  burden  of  hopeless  war. 
Now  count  them  all  over  —  de  la  Rochejaquelein, 
Bonchamp,  d'Elbee,  Lescure,  Stofflet,  Charette,  Tal- 
mont,  Tinteniac,  Sombreuil,  Vaufontaine  —  they  are 
all  gone,  your  great  men  !  And  who  of  chieftains 
and  armies  are  left  ?  Detricand  of  Vaufontaine  and 
a  few  brave  men,  —  no  more.  Believe  me,  mon- 
seigneur, your  game  is  hopeless  —  by  your  grace,  one 
moment  still,"  he  added,  as  Detricand  made  an  im- 
patient gesture.  "  Hoche  destroyed  your  army  and 
subdued  the  country  two  years  ago.  You  broke  out 
again,  and  Hoche  and  I  have  beaten  you  again.  Fight 
on,  with  your  doomed  followers  —  brave  men,  I  admit 
—  and  Hoche  will  have  no  mercy.  I  can  save  your 
peasants  if  you  will  yield  now.  We  have  had  enough 
of  blood.  Let  us  have  peace.  To  proceed  is  certain 
death  to  all,  and  your  cause  worse  lost !  On  my 
honor,  monseigneur,  I  do  this  at  some  risk,  in  memory 
of  old  days.  I  have  lost  too  many  friends,"  he  added 
in  a  lower  voice. 

Detricand  was  moved.  "  I  thank  you  for  this 
honest  courtesy.  I  had  almost  misread  your  letter," 
he  answered.  "Now  I  will  speak  freely.  I  had 
hoped  to  leave  my  bones  in  Brittany.  It  was  my 
will  to  fight  to  the  last,  with  my  doomed  followers  as 
you  call  them  —  comrades  and  lovers  of  France  I 
say.  And  it  was  their  wish  to  die  with  me.  Till 
this  afternoon  I  had  no  other  purpose.  Willing  deaths 
ours,  for  I  am  persuaded,  for  every  one  of  us  that  dies, 
a  hundred  men  will  rise  up  again  and  take  revenge 
upon  this  red  debauch  of  government !  " 


384  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

"  Have  a  care  !  "  said  Grand]  on- Larisse  with  sud- 
den anger,  his  hand  dropping  upon  the  handle  of  his 
sword. 

"  I  ask  leave  for  plain  beliefs  as  you  asked  leave 
for  plain  words.  I  must  speak  my  mind,  and  I  will 
say  now  that  it  has  changed  in  this  matter  of  fighting 
and  surrender.  I  will  tell  you  what  has  changed  it," 
and  Detricand  drew  from  his  pocket  Lorenzo  Dow's 
journal.  "It  concerns  both  you  and  me." 

Grand]  on-Larisse  flashed  a  look  of  inquiry  at  him. 

"It  concerns  your  cousin  the  Comtesse  Chanta- 
voine  and  Philip  d'Avranche,  who  calls  himself  her 
husband  —  and  Due  de  Bercy." 

He  opened  the  journal,  and  handed  it  to  Grandj on- 
Larisse.  "  Read,"  he  said. 

As  Grandj  on-Larisse  read,  an  oath  broke  from  him. 
"Is  this  authentic,  monseigneur,"  he  said  in  blank 
astonishment  —  "  and  the  woman  still  lives  ?  " 

Detricand  told  him  all  he  knew,  and  added  :  — 

"  A  plain  duty  awaits  us  both,  Monsieur  le  General. 
You  are  concerned  for  the  Comtesse  Chantavoine ;  I 
am  concerned  for  the  duchy  of  Bercy  and  for  this 
poor  lady  —  this  poor  lady  in  Jersey,"  he  added. 

Grandj  on-Larisse  was  white  with  rage.  "The  up- 
start !  The  English  brigand ! "  he  said  between  his 
teeth. 

"You  see  now,"  said  Detricand,  "that  though  it 
was  my  will  to  die  righting  your  army  in  the  last 
trench  "  - 

"Alone,  I  fear!"  interjected  Grandj  on-Larisse  with 
curt  admiration. 

"  —  My  duty  and  my  purpose  go  elsewhere,"  con- 
tinued Detricand.  "  They  take  me  to  Jersey.  And 
yours,  monsieur  ? " 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  385 

Grandjon-Larisse  beat  his  foot  impatiently  on  the 
floor.  "  For  the  moment  I  cannot  stir  in  this,  though 
I  would  give  my  life  to  do  so,"  he  answered  bitterly. 
"  I  am  but  now  recalled  to  Paris  by  the  Directory." 

He  stopped  short  in  his  restless  pacing  and  held 
out  his  hand. 

"  We  are  at  one,"  he  said  —  "  friends  in  this  at  least. 
Command  me  when  and  how  you  will.  Whatever  I 
can  I  will  do,  even  at  risk  and  peril.  The  English 
brigand  !  "  he  added  bitterly.  "  But  for  this  insult  to 
my  blood,  to  the  noble  Chantavoine,  he  shall  pay  the 
price  to  me  —  yes,  by  the  heel  of  God  !  " 

"  I  hope  to  be  in  Jersey  three  days  hence,"  said 
Detricand. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

THE  bell  on  the  top  of  the  Cohue  Royale  clattered 
like  the  tongue  of  a  scolding  fishwife.  For  it 
was  the  fourth  of  October,  and  the  opening  of  the 
Assise  d'Heritage. 

This  particular  session  of  the  Court  was  to  proceed 
with  unusual  spirit  and  importance,  for  after  the  read- 
ing of  the  King's  Proclamation,  the  Royal  Court  and 
the  States  were  to  present  the  formal  welcome  of  the 
Island  to  Admiral  Prince  Philip  d'Avranche,  Due  de 
Bercy ;  likewise  to  offer  a  bounty  to  all  Jerseymen 
enlisting  under  him. 

The  Island  was  en  fete.  There  had  not  been  such 
a  year  of  sensations  since  the  Battle  of  Jersey.  Long 
before  chicane-chicane  ceased  clanging  over  the  Vier 
Marchi  the  body  of  the  Court  was  filled.  The  Gov- 
ernor, the  Bailly,  the  jurats,  the  seigneurs  and  the 
dames  des  fiefs,  the  avocats  with  their  knowledge  of 
the  ancient  custom  of  Normandy  and  the  devious  in- 
roads made  upon  it  by  the  customs  of  Jersey,  the  mil- 
itary, all  were  in  their  places  ;  the  officers  of  the  navy 
had  arrived,  all  save  one :  and  he  was  to  be  the  chief 
figure  of  this  function.  With  each  arrival  the  people 
cheered  and  the  trumpets  blared.  The  Islanders  in 
the  Vier  Marchi  turned  to  the  booths  for  refreshment, 
or  to  the  printing-machine  set  up  near  La  Pyramide, 
and  bought  halfpenny  chap-sheets  telling  of  recent 
defeats  of  the  French;  though  mostly  they  told  in 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     387 

ebullient  words  of  the  sea-fight  which  had  made  Philip 
d'Avranche  an  admiral,  and  of  his  elevation  to  a  sov- 
ereign dukedom.  The  crowds  restlessly  awaited  his 
coming  now. 

Inside  the  Court  there  was  more  restlessness  still. 
It  was  now  many  minutes  beyond  the  hour  fixed. 
The  Bailly  whispered  to  the  Governor,  the  Governor 
to  his  aide,  and  the  aide  sought  the  naval  officers 
present ;  but  these  could  give  no  explanation  of  the 
delay.  The  Comtesse  Chantavoine  was  in  her  place 
of  honor  beside  the  Attorney-General ;  but  Prince 
Philip  and  his  flag-lieutenant  came  not. 

The  Comtesse  Chantavoine  was  the  one  person 
outwardly  unmoved.  What  she  thought,  who  could 
tell  ?  Hundreds  of  eyes  scanned  her  face,  yet  she 
seemed  unconscious  of  them,  indifferent  to  them. 
What  would  not  the  Bailly  have  given  for  her  calm- 
ness !  What  would  not  the  Greffier  have  given  for 
her  importance !  She  drew  every  eye  by  virtue  of 
something  which  was  more  than  the  name  of  Duchesse 
de  Bercy.  The  face,  the  bearing,  had  an  unconscious 
dignity,  a  living  command  and  composure :  the  heri- 
tage, perhaps,  of  a  race  ever  more  fighters  than  cour- 
tiers, rather  desiring  good  sleep  after  good  warfare 
than  luxurious  peace. 

The  silence,  the  tension  grew  painful.  A  whole 
half-hour  had  the  Court  waited  beyond  its  time.  At 
last,  however,  cheers  arose  outside,  and  all  knew  that 
the  Prince  was  coming.  Presently  the  doors  were 
thrown  open,  two  halberdiers  stepped  inside,  and  an 
officer  of  the  Court  announced  Admiral  his  Serene 
Highness  Prince  Philip  d'Avranche,  Due  de  Bercy. 

"  Oui-gia,  think  of  that ! "  said  a  voice  from  some- 
where in  the  hall. 


388  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

Philip  heard  it,  and  he  frowned,  for  he  recognized 
Dormy  Jamais'  voice.  Where  it  came  from  he  knew 
not,  nor  did  any  one ;  for  the  daft  one  was  snugly 
bestowed  above  a  middle  doorway  in  what  was  half 
balcony,  half  cornice. 

When  Philip  had  taken  his  place  beside  the  Com- 
tesse  Chantavoine,  came  the  formal  opening  of  the 
Cour  d'Heritage. 

The  Comtesse's  eyes  fixed  themselves  upon  Philip. 
There  was  that  in  his  manner  which  puzzled  and 
evaded  her  clear  intuition.  Some  strange  circum- 
stance must  have  delayed  him,  for  she  saw  that  his 
flag-lieutenant  was  disturbed,  and  this  she  felt  sure 
was  not  due  to  delay  alone.  She  was  barely  conscious 
that  the  Bailly  had  been  addressing  Philip,  until  he 
had  stopped  and  Philip  had  risen  to  reply. 

He  had  scarcely  begun  speaking  when  the  doors 
were  suddenly  thrown  open  again,  and  a  woman  came 
forward  quickly.  The  instant  she  entered  Philip  saw 
her,  and  stopped  speaking.  Every  one  turned. 

It  was  Guida.  In  the  silence,  looking  neither  to 
right  nor  left,  she  advanced  almost  to  where  the 
Greffier  sat,  and  dropping  on  her  knee  and  looking 
up  to  the  Bailly  and  the  jurats,  stretched  out  her 
hands  and  cried  :  — 

"  Haro,  haro !  a  Vaide,  mon  Prince,  on  me  fait 
tort!" 

If  one  rose  from  the  dead  suddenly  to  command 
them  to  an  awed  obedience,  Jerseymen  could  not  be 
more  at  the  mercy  of  the  apparition  than  at  the  call 
of  one  who  cries  in  their  midst,  "Haro!  Haro!"  — 
that  ancient  relic  of  the  custom  of  Normandy  and 
Rollo  the  Dane. 

To  this  hour  the  Jerseyman  maketh  his  cry  unto 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  389 

Rollo,  and  the  Royal  Court  —  whose  right  to  respond 
to  this  cry  was  confirmed  by  King  John  and  after- 
wards by  Charles  —  must  listen,  and  every  one  must 
heed.  That  cry  of  Haro  makes  the  workman  drop 
his  tools,  the  woman  her  knitting,  the  militiaman  his 
musket,  the  fisherman  his  net,  the  schoolmaster  his 
birch,  and  the  ecrivain  his  babble,  to  await  the  judg- 
ment of  the  Royal  Court. 

Every  jurat  fixed  his  eye  upon  Guida  as  though 
she  had  come  to  claim  his  life.  The  Bailly's  lips 
opened  twice  as  though  to  speak,  but  no  words  came. 
The  Governor  sat  with  hands  clenched  upon  his  chair- 
arm.  The  crowd  breathed  in  gasps  of  excitement. 
The  Comtesse  Chantavoine  looked  at  Philip,  looked 
at  Guida,  and  knew  that  here  was  the  opening  of  the 
scroll  she  had  not  been  able  to  unfold.  Now  she 
should  understand  that  something  which  had  made 
the  old  Due  de  Bercy  with  his  last  breath  say,  Dorit 
be  afraid  ! 

Philip  stood  moveless,  his  eyes  steady,  his  face 
bitter,  determined.  Yet  there  was  in  his  look,  fixed 
upon  Guida,  some  strange  mingling  of  pity  and  pur- 
pose. It  was  as  though  two  spirits  were  fighting  in 
his  face  for  mastery.  The  Countess  touched  him 
upon  the  arm,  but  he  took  no  notice.  Drawing  back 
in  her  seat  she  looked  at  him  and  at  Guida,  as  one 
might  watch  the  balances  of  justice  weighing  life  and 
death.  She  could  not  read  this  story,  but  one  glance 
at  the  faces  of  the  crowd  round  her  made  her  aware 
that  here  was  a  tale  of  the  past  which  all  knew  in 
little  or  in  much. 

"  Haro,  haro  !  a  I' aide,  mon  Prince,  on  me  fait 
tort !  "  —  What  did  she  mean,  this  woman  with  the 
exquisite  face,  alive  with  power  and  feeling,  indigna- 


390     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

tion  and  appeal  ?  To  what  prince  did  she  cry  ?  — for 
what  aid  ?  —  who  trespassed  upon  her  ? 

The  Bailly  now  stood  up,  a  frown  upon  his  face. 
He  knew  what  scandal  had  said  concerning  Guida 
and  Philip.  He  had  never  liked  Guida,  for  in  the 
first  days  of  his  importance  she  had,  for  a  rudeness 
upon  his  part  meant  as  a  compliment,  thrown  his  hat 
—  the  Lieutenant-Bailly's  hat !  —  into  the  Fauxbie 
by  the  Vier  Prison.  He  thought  her  intrusive  thus 
to  stay  these  august  proceedings  of  the  Royal  Court, 
by  an  appeal  for  he  knew  not  what. 

"  What  is  the  trespass,  and  who  the  trespasser  ? " 
asked  the  Bailly  sternly. 

Guida  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  Philip  d'Avranche  has  trespassed,"  she  said. 

"  What  Philip  d'Avranche,  mademoiselle  ? "  asked 
the  Bailly  in  a  rough,  ungenerous  tone. 

"  Admiral  Philip  d'Avranche,  known  as  his  serene 
highness  the  Due  de  Bercy,  has  trespassed  on  me," 
she  answered. 

She  did  not  look  at  Philip,  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
the  Bailly  and  the  jurats. 

The  Bailly  whispered  to  one  or  two  jurats. 

"  Wherein  is  the  trespass  ? "  asked  the  Bailly 
sharply.  "Tell  your  story." 

After  an  instant's  painful  pause,  Guida  told  her 
tale. 

"  Last  night  at  Plemont,"  she  said  in  a  voice  trem- 
bling a  little  at  first  but  growing  stronger  as  she 
went  on,  "  I  left  my  child,  my  Guilbert,  in  his  bed, 
with  Dormy  Jamais  to  watch  beside  him,  while  I  went 
to  my  boat  which  lies  far  from  my  hut.  I  left  Dormy 
Jamais  with  the  child  because  I  was  afraid  —  because 
I  had  been  afraid,  these  three  days  past,  that  Philip 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     391 

d'Avranche  would  steal  him  from  me.  I  was  gone 
but  half  an  hour  ;  it  was  dark  when  I  returned.  I 
found  the  door  open,  I  found  Dormy  Jamais  lying 
unconscious  on  the  floor,  and  my  child's  bed  empty. 
He  was  gone,  my  child,  my  Guilbert !  He  was  stolen 
from  me  by  Philip  d'Avranche,  Due  de  Bercy." 

"What  proof  have  you  that  it  was  the  Due  de 
Bercy  ?  "  asked  the  Bailly. 

"  I  have  told  your  honor  that  Dormy  Jamais  was 
there.  He  struck  Dormy  Jamais  to  the  ground,  and 
rode  off  with  my  child." 

The  Bailly  sniffed. 

"Dormy  Jamais  is  a  simpleton  — an  idiot." 

"Then  let  the  Prince  speak,"  she  answered 
quickly. 

She  turned  and  looked  Philip  in  the  eyes.  He  did 
not  answer  a  word.  He  had  not  moved  since  she 
entered  the  court-room.  He  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on 
her,  save  for  one  or  two  swift  glances  towards  the 
jurats.  The  crisis  of  his  life  had  come.  He  was 
ready  to  meet  it  now :  anything  would  be  better  than 
all  he  had  gone  through  during  the  past  ten  days.  In 
mad  impulse  he  had  stolen  the  child,  with  the  wild 
belief  that  through  it  he  could  reach  Guida,  could 
bring  her  to  him.  For  now  this  woman  who  despised 
him,  hated  him,  he  desired  more  than  all  else  in  the 
world.  Ambition  has  her  own  means  of  punishing. 
For  her  gifts  of  place  or  fortune  she  puts  some  im- 
possible hunger  in  the  soul  of  the  victim  which  leads 
him  at  last  to  his  own  destruction.  With  all  the 
world  conquered  there  is  still  some  mystic  island  of 
which  she  whispers,  and  to  gain  this  her  votary  risks 
all  —  and  loses  all. 

The  Bailly  saw  by  Philip's    face  that  Guida  had 


392  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

spoken  truth.  But  he  whispered  with  the  jurats 
eagerly,  and  presently  he  said  with  brusque  decision : 

"  Our  law  of  Haro  may  only  apply  to  trespass  upon 
property.  Its  intent  is  merely  civil." 

Which  having  said  he  opened  and  shut  his  mouth 
with  gusto,  and  sat  back  as  though  expecting  Guida  to 
retire. 

"  Your  law  of  Haro,  Monsieur  le  Bailly  !  "  Guida 
answered  with  flashing  eyes,  her  voice  ringing  out 
fearlessly.  "  Your  law  of  Haro !  The  law  of  Haro 
comes  from  the  custom  of  Normandy,  which  is  the 
law  of  Jersey.  You  make  its  intent  this,  you  make  it 
that,  but  nothing  can  alter  the  law,  and  what  has  been 
done  in  its  name  for  generations.  Is  it  so,  that  if 
Philip  d' Avranche  trespass  on  my  land,  or  my  hearth, 
I  may  cry  Haro,  haro  !  and  you  will  take  heed  ? 
But  when  it  is  blood  of  my  blood,  bone  of  my  bone, 
flesh  of  my  flesh  that  he  has  wickedly  seized ;  when 
it  is  the  head  I  have  pillowed  on  my  breast  for  four 
years  —  the  child  that  has  known  no  father,  his 
mother's  only  companion  in  her  unearned  shame,  the 
shame  of  an  outcast  —  then  is  it  so  that  your  law  of 
Haro  may  not  apply !  Messieurs,  it  is  the  justice  of 
Haro  that  I  ask,  not  your  lax  usage  of  it.  From  this 
Prince  Philip  I  appeal  to  the  spirit  of  Prince  Rollo 
who  made  this  law.  I  appeal  to  the  law  of  Jersey 
which  is  the  Custom  of  Normandy.  There  are  pre- 
cedents enough,  as  you  well  know,  messieurs.  I 
demand  —  I  demand  —  my  child  !  " 

The  Bailly  and  the  jurats  were  in  a  hopeless  quan- 
dary. They  glanced  furtively  at  Philip.  They  were 
half  afraid  that  she  was  right,  and  yet  were  timorous 
of  deciding  against  the  Prince. 

She  saw  their  hesitation.     "  I  call  on  you  to  fulfill 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     393 

the  law.  I  have  cried  Haro,  haro  !  and  what  I  have 
cried  men  will  hear  outside  this  Court,  outside  this 
Isle  of  Jersey ;  for  I  appeal  against  a  sovereign  duke 
of  Europe." 

The  Bailly  and  the  jurats  were  overwhelmed  by  the 
situation.  Guida's  brain  was  a  hundred  times  clearer 
than  theirs.  Danger,  peril  to  her  child,  had  aroused 
in  her  every  force  of  intelligence  ;  she  had  the  daring, 
the  desperation  of  the  lioness  fighting  for  her  own. 

Philip  himself  solved  the  problem.  Turning  to  the 
bench  of  jurats,  he  said  quietly  :  — 

"  She  is  quite  right ;  the  law  of  Haro  is  with  her. 
It  must  apply." 

The  Court  was  in  a  greater  maze  than  ever.  Was 
he  then  about  to  restore  to  Guida  her  child  ?  After 
an  instant's  pause  Philip  continued  :  — 

"  But  in  this  case  there  was  no  trespass,  for  the 
child  — is  my  own." 

Every  eye  in  the  Cohue  Royale  fixed  itself  upon 
him,  then  upon  Guida,  then  upon  her  who  was  known 
as  the  Duchesse  de  Bercy.  The  face  of  the  Comtesse 
Chantavoine  was  like  marble,  white  and  cold.  As 
the  words  were  spoken  a  sigh  broke  from  her,  and 
there  came  to  Philip's  mind  that  distant  day  in  the 
council  chamber  at  Bercy  when  for  one  moment  he 
was  upon  his  trial ;  but  he  did  not  turn  and  look  at  her 
now.  It  was  all  pitiable,  horrible ;  but  this  open 
avowal,  insult  as  it  was  to  the  Comtesse  Chantavoine, 
could  be  no  worse  than  the  rumors  which  would  surely 
have  reached  her  one  day.  So  let  the  game  fare  on. 
He  had  thrown  down  the  glove  now,  and  he  could  not 
see  the  end;  he  was  playing  for  one  thing  only — • 
for  the  woman  he  had  lost,  for  his  own  child.  If 
everything  went  by  the  board,  why,  it  must  go  by  the 


394     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

board.  It  all  flashed  through  his  brain  :  to-morrow 
he  must  send  in  his  resignation  to  the  Admiralty  — 
so  much  at  once.  Then  Bercy  —  come  what  might, 
there  was  work  for  him  to  do  at  Bercy.  He  was  a 
sovereign  duke  of  Europe,  as  Guida  had  said.  He 
would  fight  for  the  duchy  for  his  son's  sake.  Stand- 
ing there  he  could  feel  again  the  warm  cheek  of  the 
child  upon  his  own,  as  last  night  he  felt  it,  riding 
across  the  Island  from  Plemont  to  the  village  near 
Mont  Orgueil.  That  very  morning  he  had  hurried 
down  to  a  little  cottage  in  the  village  and  seen  it  lying 
asleep,  well  cared  for  by  a  peasant  woman.  He  knew 
that  to-morrow  the  scandal  of  the  thing  would  belong 
to  the  world,  but  he  was  not  dismayed.  He  had  tossed 
his  fame  as  an  admiral  into  the  gutter,  but  Bercy 
still  was  left.  All  the  native  force,  the  stubborn 
vigor,  the  obdurate  spirit  of  the  soil  of  Jersey  of 
which  he  was,  its  arrogant  self-will,  drove  him  straight 
into  this  last  issue.  What  he  had  got  at  so  much 
cost  he  would  keep  against  all  the  world ;  he 
would  — 

But  he  stopped  short  in  his  thoughts,  for  there  now 
at  the  court-room  door  stood  Detricand,  the  Chouan 
chieftain  ! 

He  drew  his  hand  quickly  across  his  eyes.  It 
seemed  so  wild,  so  fantastic,  that  of  all  men,  Detri- 
cand should  be  there.  His  gaze  was  so  fixed  that 
every  one  turned  to  see  —  every  one  save  Guida. 

Guida  was  not  conscious  of  this  new  figure  in  the 
scene.  In  her  heart  was  fierce  tumult.  Her  hour 
had  come  at  last,  the  hour  in  which  she  must  declare 
that  she  was  the  wife  of  this  man.  She  had  no  proofs. 
No  doubt  he  would  deny  it  now,  for  he  knew  how  she 
loathed  him.  But  she  must  tell  her  tale. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  395 

She  was  about  to  address  the  Bailly,  but,  as  though 
a  pang  of  pity  shot  through  her  heart,  she  turned 
instead  and  looked  at  the  Comtesse  Chantavoine.  She 
could  find  it  in  her  to  pause  in  compassion  for  this 
poor  lady,  more  wronged  than  herself  had  been.  Their 
eyes  met.  One  instant's  flash  of  intelligence  between 
the  souls  of  two  women,  and  Guida  knew  that  the  look 
of  the  Comtesse  Chantavoine  had  said,  "  Speak  for 
your  child." 

Thereupon  she  spoke. 

"Messieurs,  Prince  Philip  d'Avranche  is  my  hus- 
band." 

Every  one  in  the  court-room  stirred  with  excite- 
ment. Some  weak-nerved  woman  with  a  child  at  her 
breast  began  to  cry,  and  the  little  one  joined  its  feeble 
wail  to  hers. 

"  Five  years  ago,"  Guida  continued,  "  I  was  mar- 
ried to  Philip  d'Avranche  by  the  Reverend  Lorenzo 
Dow  in  the  church  of  St.  Michael's  "  — 

The  Bailly  interrupted  with  a  grunt.  "  H'm  — 
Lorenzo  Dow  is  well  out  of  the  way  —  have  done  !  " 

"  May  I  not  then  be  heard  in  my  own  defense !  " 
Guida  cried  in  indignation.  "  For  years  I  have  suf- 
fered silently  slander  and  shame.  Now  I  speak  for 
myself  at  last,  and  you  will  not  hear  me !  I  come 
to  this  court  of  justice,  and  my  word  is  doubted  ere 
I  can  prove  the  truth!  Is  it  for  judges  to  assail 
one  so  ?  Five  years  ago  I  was  married  secretly,  in 
St.  Michael's  Church  —  secretly,  because  Philip 
d'Avranche  urged  it,  pleaded  for  it.  An  open  mar- 
riage, he  said,  would  hinder  his  promotion.  We  were 
wedded,  and  he  left  me.  War  broke  out.  I  remained 
silent  according  to  my  promise  to  him.  Then  came 
the  time  when  in  the  States  of  Bercy  he  denied  that 


396  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

he  had  a  wife.  From  the  hour  I  knew  he  had  done 
so  I  denied  him.  My  child  was  born  in  shame  and 
sorrow,  I  myself  was  outcast  in  this  island.  But  my 
conscience  was  clear  before  Heaven.  I  took  myself 
and  my  child  out  from  among  you  and  went  to  Ple- 
mont.  I  waited,  believing  that  God's  justice  was 
surer  than  man's.  At  last  Philip  d'Avranche  —  my 
husband  —  returned  here.  He  invaded  my  home,  and 
begged  me  to  come  with  my  child  to  him  as  his  wife  — 
he  who  had  so  evilly  wronged  me,  and  wronged  another 
more  than  me.  I  refused.  Then  he  stole  my  child 
from  me.  You  ask  for  proofs  of  my  marriage.  Mes- 
sieurs,! have  no  proofs.  I  know  not  where  Lorenzo 
Dow  may  be  found.  The  register  of  St.  Michael's 
Church,  as  you  all  know,  was  stolen.  Mr.  Shoreham, 
who  witnessed  the  marriage,  is  dead.  But  you  must 
believe  me.  There  is  one  witness  left,  if  he  will  but 
speak  —  even  the  man  who  married  me,  the  man  that 
for  one  day  called  me  his  wife.  I  ask  him  now  to  tell 
the  truth." 

She  turned  towards  Philip,  her  clear  eyes  piercing 
him  through  and  through. 

What  was  going  on  in  his  mind  neither  she  nor  any 
in  that  court  might  ever  know,  for  in  the  pause,  the 
Comtesse  Chantavoine  rose  up,  and,  passing  steadily 
by  Philip,  came  to  Guida.  Looking  her  in  the  eyes 
with  an  incredible  sorrow,  she  took  her  hand,  and 
turned  towards  Philip  with  infinite  scorn. 

A  strange,  thrilling  silence  fell  upon  all  the  Court. 
The  jurats  shifted  in  their  seats  with  excitement.  The 
Bailly,  in  a  hoarse,  dry  voice  said  :  — 

"  We  must  have  proof.  There  must  be  record  as 
well  as  witness." 

From  near  the  great  doorway  came  a  voice  :  "  The 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  397 

record  is  here  !  "  and  De"tricand  stepped  forward,  in 
his  uniform  of  the  army  of  the  Vendee. 

A  hushed  murmur  ran  round  the  room.  The  jurats 
whispered  to  each  other. 

"  Who  are  you,  monsieur  ?  "  said  the  Bailly. 

"I  am  Detricand,  Prince  of  Vaufontaine,"  he  re- 
plied, "for  whom  the  Comtesse  Chantavoine  will 
vouch,"  he  added  in  a  pained  voice,  and  bowed  low  to 
her  and  to  Guida.  "  I  am  but  this  hour  landed.  I 
came  to  Jersey  on  this  very  matter." 

He  did  not  wait  for  the  Bailly  to  reply,  but  began 
to  tell  of  the  death  of  Lorenzo  Dow,  and,  taking  from 
his  pocket  the  little  black  journal,  opened  it  and  read 
aloud  the  record  written  therein  by  the  dead  clergy- 
man. Having  read  it,  he  passed  it  on  to  the  Greffier, 
who  handed  it  up  to  the  Bailly.  Another  moment's 
pause  ensued.  To  the  most  ignorant  and  casual  of 
the  onlookers  the  strain  was  great ;  to  those  chiefly 
concerned  it  was  supreme.  The  Bailly  and  the  j  urats 
whispered  together.  Now  at  last  a  spirit  of  justice 
was  roused  in  them.  But  the  law's  technicalities 
were  still  to  rule. 

The  Bailly  closed  the  book,  and  handed  it  back  to 
the  Greffier  with  the  words  :  "  This  is  not  proof  though 
it  is  evidence." 

Guida  felt  her  heart  sink  within  her.  The  Comtesse 
Chantavoine,  who  still  held  her  hand,  pressed  it,  though 
herself  cold  as  ice  with  sickness  of  spirit. 

At  that  instant,  and  from  Heaven  knows  where  — 
as  a  bird  comes  from  a  bush  —  a  little  gray  man  came 
quickly  among  them  all,  carrying  spread  open  before 
him  a  book  almost  as  big  as  himself.  Handing  it  up 
to  the  Bailly,  he  said,  "  Here  is  the  proof,  Monsieur  le 
Bailly,  here  is  the  whole  proof." 


398  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

The  Bailly  leaned  over  and  drew  up  the  book.  The 
jurats  crowded  near  and  a  dozen  heads  gathered  about 
the  open  volume. 

At  last  the  Bailly  looked  up  and  addressed  the 
Court  solemnly. 

"  It  is  the  lost  register  of  St.  Michael's,"  he  said. 
"  It  contains  the  record  of  the  marriage  of  Lieutenant 
Philip  d'Avranche  and  Guida  Landresse  de  Landresse, 
both  of  the  Isle  of  Jersey,  by  special  license  of  the 
Bishop  of  Winchester." 

"Precisely  so,  precisely  so,"  said  the  little  gray 
figure  —  the  Chevalier  Orvillier  du  Champsavoys  de 
Beaumanoir.  Tears  ran  down  his  cheeks  as  he  turned 
towards  Guida,  but  he  was  smiling  too. 

Guida's  eyes  were  upon  the  Bailly.  "And  the 
child  ?  "  she  cried  with  a  broken  voice  —  "the  child?" 

"The  child  goes  with  its  mother,"  answered  the 
Bailly  firmly. 


BOOK   V 

[DURING   ONE    YEAR  LATER] 
CHAPTER    XL 

THE  day  that  saw  Guida's  restitution  in  the 
Cohue  Royale  brought  but  further  trouble  to 
Ranulph  Delagarde.  The  Chevalier  had  shown  him 
the  lost  register  of  St.  Michael's,  and  with  a  heart 
less  heavy,  he  left  the  Island  once  more.  Intending 
to  join  Detricand  in  the  Vendee,  he  had  scarcely 
landed  at  St.  Malo  when  he  was  seized  by  a  press- 
gang  and  carried  aboard  a  French  frigate  commis- 
sioned to  ravage  the  coasts  of  British  America.  He 
had  stubbornly  resisted  the  press,  but  had  been 
knocked  on  the  head,  and  there  was  an  end  on  it. 

In  vain  he  protested  that  he  was  an  Englishman. 
They  laughed  at  him.  His  French  was  perfect,  his 
accent  Norman,  his  was  a  Norman  face  —  evidence 
enough.  If  he  was  not  a  citizen  of  France  he  should 
be,  and  he  must  be.  Ranulph  decided  that  it  was 
needless  to  throw  away  his  life.  It  was  better  to 
make  a  show  of  submission.  So  long  as  he  had  not 
to  fight  British  ships,  he  could  afford  to  wait.  Time 
enough  then  for  him  to  take  action.  When  the 
chance  came  he  would  escape  this  bondage ;  mean- 
while remembering  his  four  years'  service  with  the 
artillery  at  Elizabeth  Castle,  he  asked  to  be  made  a 
gunner,  and  his  request  was  granted. 


400  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

The  Victoire  sailed  the  seas  battle-hungry,  and  pre- 
sently appeased  her  appetite  among  Dutch  and  Danish 
privateers.  Such  excellent  work  did  Ranulph  against 
the  Dutchmen,  that  Richambeau,  the  captain,  gave 
him  a  gun  for  himself,  and  after  they  had  fought  the 
Danes  made  him  a  master-gunner.  Of  the  largest 
gun  on  the  Victoire  Ranulph  grew  so  fond  that  at  last 
he  called  her  ma  couzaine. 

Days  and  weeks  passed,  until  one  morning  came 
the  cry  of  "  Land  !  Land  !  "  and  once  again  Ranulph 
saw  British  soil  —  the  tall  cliffs  of  the  peninsula  of 
Gaspe".  Gasp6  —  that  was  the  ultima  Thule  to  which 
Mattingley  and  Carterette  had  gone ! 

Presently,  as  the  Victoire  came  nearer  to  the  coast, 
he  could  see  a  bay  and  a  great  rock  in  the  distance, 
and,  as  they  bore  in  now,  the  rock  seemed  to  stretch 
out  like  a  vast  wall  into  the  gulf.  As  he  stood  watch- 
ing and  leaning  on  ma  couzaine,  a  sailor  near  him  said 
that  the  bay  and  the  rock  were  called  Perce. 

Perce  Bay — that  was  the  exact  point  for  which 
Elie  Mattingley  and  Carterette  had  sailed  with  Sebas- 
tian Alixandre.  How  strange  it  was !  He  had  bid- 
den Carterette  good-by  forever,  yet  fate  had  now 
brought  him  to  the  very  spot  whither  she  had  gone. 

The  Rock  of  Perce  was  a  wall,  three  hundred  feet 
high,  and  the  wall  was  an  island  that  had  once  been  a 
long  promontory  like  a  battlement,  jutting  out  hun- 
dreds of  yards  into  the  gulf.  At  one  point  it  was 
pierced  by  an  archway.  It  was  almost  sheer  ;  its 
top  was  flat  and  level.  Upon  the  sides  there  was  no 
verdure ;  upon  the  top  centuries  had  made  a  green 
field.  The  wild  geese  as  they  flew  northward,  myriad 
flocks  of  gulls,  gannets,  cormorants,  and  all  manner  of 
fowl  of  the  sea,  had  builded  upon  the  summit  until  it 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     401 

was  rich  with  grass  and  shrubs.  The  nations  of  the 
air  sent  their  legions  here  to  bivouac,  and  the  discord 
of  a  hundred  languages  might  be  heard  far  out  to  sea, 
far  in  upon  the  land.  Millions  of  the  races  of  the  air 
swarmed  there ;  at  times  the  air  above  was  darkened 
by  clouds  of  them.  No  fog-bell  on  a  rock-bound  coast 
might  warn  mariners  more  ominously  than  these  bat- 
talions of  adventurers  on  the  Perce  Rock. 

No  human  being  had  ever  mounted  to  this  eyrie. 
Generations  of  fishermen  had  looked  upon  the  yellow- 
ish-red limestone  of  the  Perce  Rock  with  a  valorous 
eye,  but  it  would  seem  that  not  even  the  tiny  clinging 
hoof  of  a  chamois  or  wild  goat  might  find  a  foothold 
upon  the  straight  sides  of  it. 

Ranulph  was  roused  out  of  the  spell  Perce  cast  over 
him  by  seeing  the  British  flag  upon  a  building  by  the 
shore  of  the  bay  they  were  now  entering.  His  heart 
gave  a  great  bound.  Yes,  it  was  the  English  flag 
defiantly  flying.  And  more,  —  there  were  two  old 
12-pounders  being  trained  on  the  French  squadron. 
For  the  first  time  in  years  a  low  laugh  burst  from  his 
lips. 

"  O  mai  grand  doux  !  "  he  said  in  the  Jersey  patois, 
"  only  one  man  in  the  world  would  do  that.  Only 
Elie  Mattingley ! " 

At  that  moment,  Mattingley  now  issued  from  a 
wooden  fishing-shed  with  Sebastian  Alixandre  and 
three  others  armed  with  muskets,  and  passed  to  the 
little  fort  on  which  flew  the  British  and  Jersey  flags. 
Ranulph  heard  a  guffaw  behind.  Richambeau,  the 
captain,  confronted  him. 

"  That 's  a  big  splutter  in  a  little  pot,  gunner,"  said 
he.  He  put  his  telescope  to  his  eye.  "  The  Lord 
protect  us,"  he  cried,  "they're  going  to  fight  my 


402  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

ship ! "  He  laughed  again  till  the  tears  came.  "  Son 
of  Peter,  but  it  is  droll  that  —  a  farce  an  diable ! 
They  have  humor,  these  fisher-folk,  eh,  gunner  ?  " 

"  Mattingley  will  fight  you  just  the  same,"  answered 
Ranulph  coolly. 

"  Oh  ho,  you  know  these  people,  my  gunner  ? " 
asked  Richambeau. 

"All  my  life,"  answered  Ranulph,  "  and,  by  your 
leave,  I  will  tell  you  how." 

Not  waiting  for  permission,  after  the  manner  of  his 
country,  he  told  Richambeau  of  his  Jersey  birth  and 
bringing-up,  and  how  he  was  the  victim  of  the  press- 
gang. 

"Very  good,"  said  Richambeau.  "  You  Jersey  folk 
were  once  Frenchmen,  and  now  that  you  're  French 
again,  you  shall  do  something  for  the  flag.  You  see 
that  12-pounder  yonder  to  the  right  ?  Very  well, 
dismount  it.  Then  we  '11  send  in  a  flag  of  truce,  and 
parley  with  this  Mattingley,  for  his  jests  are  worth 
attention  and  politeness.  There  's  a  fellow  at  the  gun 
—  no,  he  has  gone.  Dismount  the  right-hand  gun  at 
one  shot.  Ready  now.  Get  a  good  range." 

The  whole  matter  went  through  Ranulph's  mind  as 
the  captain  spoke.  If  he  refused  to  fire,  he  would 
be  strung  up  to  the  yardarm ;  if  he  fired  and  missed, 
perhaps  other  gunners  would  fire,  and  once  started 
they  might  raze  the  fishing-post.  If  he  dismounted 
the  gun,  the  matter  would  probably  remain  only  a 
jest,  for  such  as  yet  Richambeau  regarded  it. 

Ranulph  ordered  the  tackle  and  breechings  cast 
away,  had  off  the  apron,  pricked  a  cartridge,  primed, 
bruised  the  priming,  and  covered  the  vent.  Then  he 
took  his  range  steadily,  quietly.  There  was  a  brisk 
wind  blowing  from  the  south  —  he  must  allow  for 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  403 

that ;  but  the  wind  was  stopped  somewhat  in  its 
course  by  the  Perce  Rock  —  he  must  allow  for  that. 

All  was  ready.  Suddenly  a  girl  came  running 
round  the  corner  of  the  building. 

It  was  Carterette.  She  was  making  for  the  right- 
hand  gun.  Ranulph  started,  the  hand  that  held  the 
match  trembled. 

"Fire,  you  fool,  or  you'll  kill  the  girl!"  cried 
Richambeau. 

Ranulph  laid  a  hand  on  himself  as  it  were.  Every 
nerve  in  his  body  tingled,  his  legs  trembled,  but  his 
eye  was  steady.  He  took  the  sight  once  more  coolly, 
then  blew  on  the  match.  Now  the  girl  was  within 
thirty  feet  of  the  gun. 

He  quickly  blew  on  the  match  again,  and  fired. 

When  the  smoke  cleared  away  he  saw  that  the  gun 
was  dismounted,  and  not  ten  feet  from  it  stood  Car- 
terette looking  at  it  dazedly. 

He  heard  a  laugh  behind  him.  There  was  Richam- 
beau walking  away,  telescope  under  arm,  even  as  the 
other  i2-pounder  on  shore  replied  impudently  to  the 
gun  he  had  fired. 

"  A  good  aim  !  "  he  heard  Richambeau  say,  jerking 
a  finger  backwards  towards  him. 

Was  it  then  ?  said  Ranulph  to  himself ;  was  it 
indeed  ?  Ba  su,  it  was  the  last  shot  he  would  ever 
fire  against  aught  English,  here  or  elsewhere. 

Presently  he  saw  a  boat  drawing  away  with  the  flag 
of  truce  in  the  hands  of  a  sous-lieutenant.  His  mind 
was  made  up  ;  he  would  escape  to-night.  His  place 
was  there  beside  his  fellow-countrymen.  He  motioned 
away  the  men  of  the  gun.  He  would  load  ma  cou- 
zaine  himself  for  the  last  time. 

As  he  sponged  the  gun  he  made  his  plans.     S^v^sh- 


404  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

swash  the  sponge-staff  ran  in  and  out  — he  would  try 
to  steal  away  at  dog-watch.  He  struck  the  sponge 
smartly  on  ma  couzaine's  muzzle,  cleansing  it — he 
would  have  to  slide  into  the  water  like  a  rat  and  swim 
very  softly  to  the  shore.  He  reached  for  a  fresh  car- 
tridge, and  thrust  it  into  the  throat  of  the  gun,  and  as 
the  seam  was  laid  downwards  he  said  to  himself  that 
he  could  swim  under  water,  if  discovered  as  he  left 
the  Victoire.  As  he  unstopped  the  touch-hole  and 
tried  with  the  priming-wire  whether  the  cartridge  was 
home,  he  was  stunned  by  a  fresh  thought. 

Richambeau  would  send  a  squad  of  men  to  search 
for  him,  and  if  he  was  not  found  they  would  probably 
raze  the  post,  or  take  its  people  prisoners.  As  he 
put  the  apron  carefully  on  ma  couzaine,  he  determined 
that  he  could  not  take  refuge  with  the  Mattingleys. 
Neither  would  it  do  to  make  for  the  woods  of  the 
interior,  for  still  Richambeau  might  revenge  himself 
on  the  fishing-post.  What  was  to  be  done?  He 
turned  his  eyes  helplessly  on  Perce  Rock. 

As  he  looked,  a  new  idea  came  to  him.  If  only  he 
could  get  to  the  top  of  that  massive  wall,  not  a  hun- 
dred fleets  could  dislodge  him.  One  musket  could 
defeat  the  forlorn  hope  of  any  army.  Besides,  if  he 
took  refuge  on  the  rock,  there  could  be  no  grudge 
against  Perce  village  or  the  Mattingleys,  and  Richam- 
beau would  not  injure  them. 

He  eyed  the  wall  closely.  The  blazing  sunshine 
showed  it  up  in  a  hard  light,  and  he  studied  every 
square  yard  of  it  with  a  telescope.  At  one  point  the 
wall  was  not  quite  perpendicular.  There  were  also 
narrow  ledges,  lumps  of  stone,  natural  steps  and  little 
pinnacles  which  the  fingers  could  grip  and  where  a 
man  might  rest.  Yes,  he  would  try  it. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  405 

It  was  the  last  quarter  of  the  moon,  and  the  neap- 
tide  was  running  low  when  he  let  himself  softly  down 
into  the  water  from  the  Victoire.  The  blanket  tied 
on  his  head  held  food  kept  from  his  rations,  with 
stone  and  flint  and  other  things.  He  was  not  seen, 
and  he  dropped  away  quietly  astern,  getting  clear  of 
the  Victoire  while  the  moon  was  partially  obscured. 

Now  it  was  a  question  when  his  desertion  would  be 
discovered.  All  he  asked  was  two  clear  hours.  By 
that  time  the  deed  would  be  done,  if  he  could  climb 
Perce  Rock  at  all. 

He  touched  bottom.  He  was  on  Perce  sands. 
The  blanket  on  his  head  was  scarcely  wetted.  He 
wrung  the  water  out  of  his  clothes,  and  ran  softly  up 
the  shore.  Suddenly  he  was  met  by  a  cry  of  Qui  va 
la  ?  and  he  stopped  short  at  the  point  of  Elie  Mat- 
tingley's  bayonet. 

"Hush  !  "  said  Ranulph,  and  gave  his  name. 

Mattingley  nearly  dropped  his  musket  in  surprise. 
He  soon  knew  the  tale  of  Ranulph's  misfortunes,  but 
he  had  not  yet  been  told  of  his  present  plans  when 
there  came  a  quick  footstep,  and  Carterette  was  at 
her  father's  side.  Unlike  Mattingley,  she  did  drop 
her  musket  at  the  sight  of  Ranulph.  Her  lips  opened, 
but  at  first  she  could  not  speak  —  this  was  more  than 
she  had  ever  dared  hope  for,  since  those  dark  days  in 
Jersey.  Ranulph  here  !  She  pressed  her  hands  to 
her  heart  to  stop  its  throbbing. 

Presently  she  was  trembling  with  excitement  at  the 
story  of  how  Ranulph  had  been  pressed  at  St.  Malo, 
and  all  that  came  after  until  this  very  day. 

"  Go  along  with  Carterette,"  said  Mattingley. 
"  Alixandre  is  at  the  house ;  he  '11  help  you  away  into 
the  woods." 


406     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

As  Ranulph  hurried  away  with  Carterette,  he  told 
her  his  design.  Suddenly  she  stopped  short. 

"Ranulph  Delagarde,"  she  said  vehemently,  "you 
can't  climb  Perce"  Rock.  No  one  has  ever  done  it, 
and  you  must  not  try.  Oh,  I  know  you  are  a  great 
man,  but  you  must  n't  think  you  can  do  this.  You 
will  be  safe  where  we  shall  hide  you.  You  shall  not 
climb  the  rock  —  ah  no,  ba  su  !  " 

He  pointed  towards  the  Post.  "  They  would  n't 
leave  a  stick  standing  there  if  you  hid  me.  No,  I  'm 
going  to  the  top  of  the  rock." 

"  Man  doux  terrible  !  "  she  said  in  sheer  bewilder- 
ment, and  then  was  suddenly  inspired.  At  last  her 
time  had  come. 

"Pardingue,"  she  said,  clutching  his  arm,  "if  you 
go  to  the  top  of  Perce  Rock,  so  will  I ! " 

In  spite  of  his  anxiety  he  almost  laughed. 

"  But  see  —  but  see,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  dropped  ; 
"you  couldn't  stay  up  there  with  me  all  alone,  Gar^on 
Carterette.  And  Richambeau  would  be  firing  on  you, 
too !  " 

She  was  very  angry,  but  she  made  no  reply,  and  he 
continued  quickly :  — 

"  I  '11  go  straight  to  the  rock  now.  When  they  miss 
me  there  '11  be  a  pot  boiling,  you  may  believe.  If  I 
get  up,"  he  added,  "  I  '11  let  a  string  down  for  a  rope 
you  must  get  for  me.  Once  on  top  they  can't  hurt 
me.  .  .  .  Eh  ben,  a  bi'tdt,  Gargon  Carterette ! " 

"  O  my  good  !  O  my  good  !  "  said  the  girl  with  a 
sudden  change  of  mood.  "To  think  you  have  come 
like  this  !  and  perhaps  "  —  But  she  dashed  the  tears 
from  her  eyes,  and  bade  him  go  on. 

The  tide  was  well  out,  the  moon  shining  brightly. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  407 

Ranulph  reached  the  point  where,  if  the  rock  was  to 
be  scaled  at  all,  the  ascent  must  be  made.  For  a  dis- 
tance there  was  shelving  where  foothold  might  be 
had  by  a  fearless  man  with  a  steady  head  and  sure 
balance.  After  that  came  about  a  hundred  feet  where 
he  would  have  to  draw  himself  up  by  juttings  and 
crevices  hand  over  hand,  where  was  no  natural  path- 
way. Woe  be  to  him  if  head  grew  dizzy,  foot  slipped, 
or  strength  gave  out  ;  he  would  be  broken  to  pieces 
on  the  hard  sand  below.  That  second  stage  once 
passed,  the  ascent  thence  to  the  top  would  be  easier ; 
for  though  nearly  as  steep,  it  had  more  ledges,  and 
offered  fair  vantage  to  a  man  with  a  foot  like  a  moun- 
tain goat.  Ranulph  had  been  aloft  all  weathers  in  his 
time,  and  his  toes  were  as  strong  as  another  man's 
foot,  and  surer. 

He  started.  The  toes  caught  in  crevices,  held  on 
to  ledges,  glued  themselves  on  to  smooth  surfaces ; 
the  knees  clung  like  a  rough-rider's  to  a  saddle  ;  the 
big  hands,  when  once  they  got  a  purchase,  fastened 
like  an  air-cup. 

Slowly,  slowly  up,  foot  by  foot,  yard  by  yard,  until 
one-third  of  the  distance  was  climbed.  The  suspense 
and  strain  were  immeasurable.  But  he  struggled  on 
and  on,  and  at  last  reached  a  sort  of  flying  pinnacle  of 
rock,  like  a  hook  for  the  shields  of  the  gods. 

Here  he  ventured  to  look  below,  expecting  to  see 
Carterette,  but  there  was  only  the  white  sand,  and  no 
sound  save  the  long  wash  of  the  gulf.  He  drew  a 
horn  of  arrack  from  his  pocket  and  drank.  He  had 
two  hundred  feet  more  to  climb,  and  the  next  hun- 
dred would  be  the  great  ordeal. 

He  started  again.  This  was  travail  indeed.  His 
rough  fingers,  his  toes,  hard  as  horn  almost,  began 


408  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

bleeding.  Once  or  twice  he  swung  quite  clear  of  the 
wall,  hanging  by  his  fingers  to  catch  a  surer  foothold 
to  right  or  left,  and  just  getting  it  sometimes  by  an 
inch  or  less.  The  tension  was  terrible.  His  head 
seemed  to  swell  and  fill  with  blood :  on  the  top  it 
throbbed  till  it  was  ready  to  burst.  His  neck  was 
aching  horribly  with  constant  looking  up,  the  skin  of 
his  knees  was  gone,  his  ankles  bruised.  But  he  must 
keep  on  till  he  got  to  the  top,  or  until  he  fell. 

He  was  fighting  on  now  in  a  kind  of  dream,  quite 
apart  from  all  usual  feelings  of  this  world.  The  earth 
itself  seemed  far  away,  and  he  was  toiling  among 
vastnesses,  himself  a  giant  with  colossal  frame  and 
huge,  sprawling  limbs.  It  was  like  a  gruesome  vision 
of  the  night,  when  the  body  is  an  elusive,  stupendous 
mass  that  falls  into  space  after  a  confused  struggle 
with  immensities.  It  was  all  mechanical,  vague,  almost 
numb,  this  effort  to  overcome  a  mountain.  Yet  it  was 
precise  and  hugely  expert,  too  ;  for  though  there  was 
a  strange  mist  on  the  brain,  the  body  felt  its  way  with 
a  singular  certainty,  as  might  some  molluscan  dweller 
of  the  sea,  sensitive  like  a  plant,  intuitive  like  an  ani- 
mal. Yet  at  times  it  see'med  that  this  vast  body 
overcoming  the  mountain  must  let  go  its  hold  and 
slide  away  into  the  darkness  of  .the  depths. 

Now  there  was  a  strange  convulsive  shiver  in  every 
nerve  —  God  have  mercy,  the  time  was  come !  .  .  . 
No,  not  yet.  At  the  very  instant  when  it  seemed  the 
panting  flesh  and  blood  would  be  shaken  off  by  the 
granite  force  repelling  it,  the  fingers,  like  long  anten- 
nae, touched  horns  of  rock  jutting  out  from  ledges  on 
the  third  escarpment  of  the  wall.  Here  was  the  last 
point  of  the  worst  stage  of  the  journey.  Slowly, 
heavily,  the  body  drew  up  to  the  shelf  of  limestone, 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  409 

and  crouched  in  an  inert  bundle.  There  it  lay  for  a 
long  time. 

While  the  long  minutes  went  by,  a  voice  kept  call- 
ing up  from  below ;  calling,  calling,  at  first  eagerly, 
then  anxiously,  then  with  terror.  By  and  by  the 
bundle  of  life  stirred,  took  shape,  raised  itself,  and 
was  changed  into  a  man  again,  a  thinking,  conscious 
being,  who  now  understood  the  meaning  of  this  sound 
coming  up  from  the  earth  below  —  or  was  it  the  sea  ? 
A  human  voice  had  at  last  pierced  the  awful  exhaus- 
tion of  the  deadly  labor,  the  peril  and  strife,  which  had 
numbed  the  brain  while  the  body,  in  its  instinct  for 
existence,  still  clung  to  the  rocky  ledges.  It  had  called 
the  man  back  to  earth  —  he  was  no  longer  a  great 
animal,  and  the  rock  a  monster  with  skin  and  scales 
of  stone. 

"  Ranulph  !  Maitre  Ranulph  !  Ah,  Ranulph ! " 
called  the  voice. 

Now  he  knew,  and  he  answered  down  :  — 

"  All  right !  all  right,  Garche  Carterette !  " 

"  Are  you  at  the  top  ? " 

"  No,  but  the  rest  is  easy." 

"  Hurry,  hurry,  Ranulph !  If  they  should  come 
before  you  reach  the  top  ! " 

"  I  '11  soon  be  there." 

"  Are  you  hurt,  Ranulph  ?  " 

"  No,  but  my  fingers  are  in  rags.  I  am  going  now. 
Abi't6t,  Carterette!" 

"  Ranulph ! " 

"'Sh,  'sh,  do  not  speak.     I  am  starting." 

There  was  silence  for  what  seemed  hours  to  the 
girl  below.  Foot  by  foot  the  man  climbed  on,  no  less 
cautious  because  the  ascent  was  easier,  for  he  was  now 
weaker.  But  he  was  on  the  monster's  neck  now,  and 


4io     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

soon  he  should  set  his  heel  on  it :  he  was  not  to  be 
shaken  off. 

At  last  the  victorious  moment  came.  Over  a  jutting 
ledge  he  drew  himself  up  by  sheer  strength  and  the 
rubber-like  grip  of  his  lacerated  fingers,  and  now  he 
lay  flat  and  breathless  upon  the  ground. 

How  soft  and  cool  it  was !  This  was  long  sweet 
grass  touching  his  face,  making  a  couch  like  down  for 
the  battered,  wearied  body.  Surely  such  travail  had 
been  more  than  mortal.  And  what  was  this  vast  flut- 
tering over  his  head,  this  million-voiced  discord  round 
him,  like  the  buffetings  and  cries  of  spirits  welcoming 
another  to  their  torment  ?  He  raised  his  head  and 
laughed  in  triumph.  These  were  the  cormorants, 
gulls,  and  gannets  on  the  Perce  Rock. 

Legions  of  birds  circled  over  him  with  cries  so  shrill 
that  at  first  he  did  not  hear  Carterette's  voice  calling 
up  to  him.  At  last,  however,  remembering,  he  leaned 
over  the  cliff  and  saw  her  standing  in  the  moonlight 
far  below. 

Her  voice  came  up  to  him  indistinctly  because  of 
the  clatter  of  the  birds.  "  Maitre  Ranulph !  Ran- 
ulph  ! "  She  could  not  see  him,  for  this  part  of  the 
rock  was  in  shadow. 

"Ah  bah,  all  right!"  he  said,  and  taking  hold  of 
one  end  of  the  twine  he  had  brought,  he  let  the  roll 
fall.  It  dropped  almost  at  Carterette's  feet.  She  tied 
to  the  end  of  it  three  loose  ropes  she  had  brought 
from  the  Post.  He  drew  them  up  quickly,  tied  them 
together  firmly,  and  let  the  great  coil  down.  Ran- 
ulph's  bundle,  a  tent  and  many  things  Carterette  had 
brought  were  drawn  up. 

"  Ranulph  !  Ranulph  ! "  came  Carterette's  voice 
again. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     411 

"  Garden  Carterette  ! " 

"You  must  help  Sebastian  Alixandre  up,"  she  said. 

"  Sebastian  Alixandre !  Is  he  there  ?  Why  does 
he  want  to  come  ?  " 

"  That  is  no  matter,"  she  called  softly.  "  He  is 
coming.  He  has  the  rope  round  his  waist.  Pull 
away !  " 

It  was  better,  Ranulph  thought  to  himself,  that  he 
should  be  on  Perce  Rock  alone,  but  the  terrible  strain 
had  bewildered  him,  and  he  could  make  no  protest 
now. 

"  Don't  start  yet,"  he  called  down ;  "  I  '11  pull  when 
all 's  ready  !  " 

He  fell  back  from  the  edge  to  a  place  in  the  grass 
where,  tying  the  rope  round  his  body,  and  seating 
himself,  he  could  brace  his  feet  against  a  ledge  of  rock. 
Then  he  pulled  on  the  rope.  It  was  round  Carte- 
rette's  waist ! 

Carterette  had  told  her  falsehood  without  shame, 
for  she  was  of  those  to  whom  the  end  is  more  than 
the  means.  She  began  climbing,  and  Ranulph  pulled 
steadily.  Twice  he  felt  the  rope  suddenly  jerk  when 
she  lost  her  footing,  but  it  came  in  evenly  still,  and 
he  used  a  nose  of  rock  as  a  sort  of  winch. 

The  climber  was  nearly  two-thirds  of  the  way  up 
when  a  cannon-shot  boomed  out  over  the  water, 
frightening  again  the  vast  covey  of  birds  which 
shrieked  and  honked  till  the  air  was  a  maelstrom  of 
cries.  Then  came  another  cannon-shot. 

Ranulph's  desertion  was  discovered.  The  fight 
was  begun  between  a  single  Jersey  shipwright  and  a 
French  warship. 

His  strength,  however,  could  not  last  much  longer. 
Every  muscle  of  his  body  had  been  strained  and  tor- 


4i2  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

tured,  and  even  this  lighter  task  tried  him  beyond 
endurance.  His  legs  stiffened  against  the  ledge  of 
rock,  the  tension  numbed  his  arms.  He  wondered 
how  near  Alixandre  was  to ,  the  top.  Suddenly  there 
was  a  pause,  then  a  heavy  jerk.  Love  of  God  — the 
rope  was  shooting  through  his  fingers,  his  legs  were 
giving  way  !  He  gathered  himself  together,  and  then 
with  teeth,  hands,  and  body  rigid  with  enormous 
effort,  he  pulled  and  pulled.  Now  he  could  not  see. 
A  mist  swam  before  his  eyes.  Everything  grew 
black,  but  he  pulled  on  and  on. 

He  never  knew  how  the  climber  reached  the  top. 
But  when  the  mist  cleared  away  from  his  eyes,  Carte- 
rette  was  bending  over  him,  putting  rum  to  his  lips. 

"  Carterette  !  Gargon  Carterette  !  "  he  murmured, 
amazed.  Then  as  the  truth  burst  upon  him  he  shook 
his  head  in  a  troubled  sort  of  way. 

"  What  a  cat  I  was  !  "  said  Carterette.  "  What  a 
wild  cat  I  was  to  make  you  haul  me  up  !  It  was  bad 
for  me  with  the  rope  round  me,  it  must  have  been 
awful  for  you,  my  poor  esmanus  —  poor  scarecrow 
Ranulph  ! " 

Scarecrow  indeed  he  looked.  His  clothes  were 
nearly  gone,  his  hair  was  tossed  and  matted,  his  eyes 
bloodshot,  his  big  hands  like  pieces  of  raw  meat,  his 
feet  covered  with  blood. 

"  My  poor  scarecrow ! "  she  repeated,  and  she  ten- 
derly wiped  the  blood  from  his  face  where  his  hands 
had  touched  it.  Meanwhile  bugle-calls  and  cries  of 
command  came  up  to  them,  and  in  the  first  light  of 
morning  they  could  see  French  officers  and  sailors, 
Mattingley,  Alixandre,  and  others  hurrying  to  and  fro. 

When  day  came  clear  and  bright,  it  was  known 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     413 

that  Carterette  as  well  as  Ranulph  had  vanished. 
Mattingley  shook  his  head  stoically,  but  Richambeau 
on  the  Victoire  was  as  keen  to  hunt  down  one  Jersey- 
Englishman  as  he  had  ever  been  to  attack  an  English 
fleet.  More  so,  perhaps. 

Meanwhile  the  birds  kept  up  a  wild  turmoil  and 
shrieking.  Never  before  had  any  one  heard  them  so 
clamorous.  More  than  once  Mattingley  had  looked 
at  Perce"  Rock  curiously,  but  whenever  the  thought  of 
it  as  a  refuge  came  to  him,  he  put  it  away.  No,  it 
was  impossible. 

Yet,  what  was  that  ?  Mattingley's  heart  thumped. 
There  were  two  people  on  the  lofty  island  wall  —  a 
man  and  a  woman.  He  caught  the  arm  of  a  French 
officer  near  him.  "Look,  look  !  "  he  said.  The  officer 
raised  his  glass. 

"  It 's  the  gunner !  "  he  cried,  and  handed  the  glass 
to  the  old  man. 

"  It 's  Carterette  !  "  said  Mattingley  in  a  hoarse 
voice.  "  But  it 's  not  possible.  It 's  not  possible,"  he 
added  helplessly.  "Nobody  was  ever  there.  My 
God,  look  at  it  —  look  at  it !  " 

It  was  a  picture  indeed.  A  man  and  a  woman  were 
outlined  against  the  clear  air,  putting  up  a  tent  as 
calmly  as  though  on  a  lawn,  thousands  of  birds  wheel- 
ing over  their  heads,  with  querulous  cries. 

A  few  moments  later,  Elie  Mattingley  was  being 
rowed  swiftly  to  the  Victoire,  where  Richambeau  was 
swearing  viciously  as  he  looked  through  his  telescope. 
He  also  had  recognized  the  gunner. 

He  was  prepared  to  wipe  out  the  fishing-post  if 
Mattingley  did  not  produce  Ranulph  —  well,  here  was 
Ranulph  duly  produced  and  insultingly  setting  up  a 
tent  on  this  sheer  rock,  "with  some  snippet  of  the 


414  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

devil,"  said  Richambeau,  and  defying  a  great  French 
warship.  He  would  set  his  gunners  to  work.  If  he 
only  had  as  good  a  marksman  as  Ranulph  himself, 
the  deserter  should  drop  at  the  first  shot  — "  death 
and  the  devil  take  his  impudent  face ! " 

He  was  just  about  to  give  the  order  when  Matting- 
ley  was  brought  to  him.  The  old  man's  story  amazed 
him  beyond  measure. 

"It  is  no  man,  then !  "  said  Richambeau,  when  Mat- 
tingley  had  done.  "  He  must  be  a  damned  fly  to  do 
it !  And  the  girl  —  sacrt  moi  !  he  drew  her  up  after 
him.  I  '11  have  him  down  out  of  that  though,  or 
throw  up  my  flag,"  he  added,  and,  turning  fiercely, 
gave  his  orders. 

For  hours  the  Victoire  bombarded  the  lonely  rock 
from  the  north.  The  white  tent  was  carried  away, 
but  the  cannon-balls  flew  over  or  merely  battered 
the  solid  rock,  the  shells  were  thrown  beyond,  and  no 
harm  was  done.  But  now  and  again  the  figure  of 
Ranulph  appeared,  and  a  half  dozen  times  he  took  aim 
with  his  musket  at  the  French  soldiers  on  the  shore. 
Twice  his  shots  took  effect ;  one  man  was  wounded, 
and  one  killed.  Then  whole  companies  of  marines 
returned  a  musketry  fire  at  him,  to  no  purpose.  At 
his  ease  he  hid  himself  in  the  long  grass  at  the  edge 
of  the  cliff,  and  picked  off  two  more  men. 

Here  was  a  ridiculous  thing :  one  man  and  a  slip  of 
a  girl  fighting  and  defying  a  battle-ship.  The  smoke 
of  battle  covered  miles  of  the  great  gulf.  Even  the 
sea-birds  shrieked  in  ridicule. 

This  went  on  for  three  days  at  intervals.  With  a 
fine  chagrin  Richambeau  and  his  men  saw  a  bright 
camp-fire  lighted  on  the  rock,  and  knew  that  Ranulph 
and  the  girl  were  cooking  their  meals  in  peace.  A 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  415 

flagstaff,  too,  was  set  up,  and  a  red  cloth  waved  defi- 
antly in  the  breeze.  At  last  Richambeau,  who  had 
watched  the  whole  business  from  the  deck  of  the  Vic- 
toire,  burst  out  laughing,  and  sent  for  Elie  Mattingley. 

"  Come,  I  've  had  enough,"  said  Richambeau. 
"  There  never  was  a  wilder  jest,  and  I  '11  not  spoil  the 
joke.  He  hag  us  on  his  toasting-fork.  He  shall  have 
the  honor  of  a  flag  of  truce." 

And  so  it  was  that  the  French  battle-ship  sent  a 
flag  of  truce  to  the  foot  of  Perce  Rock,  and  a  French 
officer,  calling  up,  gave  his  captain's  word  of  honor 
that  Ranulph  should  suffer  nothing  at  the  hands  of 
a  court-martial,  and  that  he  should  be  treated  as  an 
English  prisoner  of  war,  not  as  a  French  deserter. 

There  was  no  court-martial.  After  Ranulph,  at 
Richambeau's  command,  had  told  the  tale  of  the 
ascent,  the  Frenchman  said  :  — 

"  No  one  but  an  Englishman  could  be  fool  enough 
to  try  such  a  thing,  and  none  but  a  fool  could  have 
had  the  luck  to  succeed.  But  even  a  fool  can  get  a 
woman  to  follow  him,  and  so  this  flyaway  followed 
you,  and  "  — 

Carterette  made  for  Richambeau  as  though  to 
scratch  his  eyes  out,  but  Ranulph  held  her  back. 

"  —  And  you  are  condemned,  gunner,"  continued 
Richambeau  dryly,  "  to  marry  the  said  maid  before 
sundown,  or  be  carried  out  to  sea  a  prisoner  of  war." 

So  saying,  he  laughed,  and  bade  them  begone  to 
the  wedding. 

Ranulph  left  Richambeau's  ship  bewildered  and 
perturbed.  For  hours  he  paced  the  shore,  and  at 
last  his  thoughts  began  to  clear.  The  new  life  he 
had  led  during  the  last  few  months  had  brought 


416  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

many  revelations.  He  had  come  to  realize  that  there 
are  several  sorts  of  happiness,  but  that  all  may  be 
divided  into  two  kinds :  the  happiness  of  doing  good 
to  ourselves,  and  that  of  doing  good  to  others.  It 
opened  out  clearly  to  him  now  as  he  thought  of 
Carterette  in  the  light  of  Richambeau's  coarse  jest. 

For  years  he  had  known  in  a  sort  of  way  that 
Carterette  preferred  him  to  any  other  man.  He 
knew  now  that  she  had  remained  single  because  of 
him.  For  him  her  impatience  had  been  patience, 
her  fiery  heart  had  spilt  itself  in  tenderness  for  his 
misfortunes.  She  who  had  lightly  tossed  lovers 
aside,  her  coquetry  appeased,  had  to  himself  shown 
sincerity  without  coquetry,  loyalty  without  selfish- 
ness. He  knew  well  that  she  had  been  his  champion 
in  dark  days,  that  he  had  received  far  more  from  her 
than  he  had  ever  given  —  even  of  friendship.  In  his 
own  absorbing  love  for  Guida  Landresse,  during  long 
years  he  had  been  unconsciously  blind  to  a  devotion 
which  had  lived  on  without  hope,  without  repining, 
with  untiring  cheerfulness. 

In  those  three  days  spent  on  the  top  of  the  Perce 
Rock  how  blithe  Garden  Carterette  had  been !  Dan- 
ger had  seemed  nothing  to  her.  She  had  the  temper 
of  a  man  in  her  real  enjoyment  of  the  desperate 
chances  of  life.  He  had  never  seen  her  so  buoyant ; 
her  animal  spirits  had  never  leaped  so  high.  And  yet, 
despite  the  boldness  which  had  sent  her  to  the  top  of 
Perce  Rock  with  him,  there  had  been  in  her  whole 
demeanor  a  frank  modesty  free  from  self-conscious- 
ness. She  could  think  for  herself,  she  was  sure  of 
herself,  and  she  would  go  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  for 
him.  Surely  he  had  not  earned  such  friendship,  such 
affection. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  417 

He  recalled  how,  the  night  before,  as  he  sat  by 
their  little  camp-fire,  she  had  come  and  touched  him 
on  the  shoulder,  and,  looking  down  at  him,  said  :  — 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  was  beginning  my  life  all  over  again, 
don't  you,  Maitre  Ranulph  ? " 

Her  black  eyes  had  been  fixed  on  his,  and  the  fire 
in  them  was  as  bright  and  full  of  health  and  truth  as 
the  fire  at  his  feet. 

And  he  had  answered  her  :  "  I  think  I  feel  that 
too,  Garden  Carterette." 

To  which  she  had  replied,  "  It  is  n't  hard  to  forget 
here  —  not  so  very  hard,  is  it  ? " 

She  did  not  mean  Guida,  nor  what  he  had  felt  for 
Guida,  but  rather  the  misery  of  the  past.  He  had 
nodded  his  head  in  reply,  but  had  not  spoken ;  and 
she,  with  a  quick  "A  bi'tot,"  had  taken  her  blanket 
and  gone  to  that  portion  of  the  rock  set  apart  for  her 
own.  Then  he  had  sat  by  the  fire  thinking  through 
the  long  hours  of  night  until  the  sun  rose.  That  day 
Richambeau  had  sent  his  flag  of  truce,  and  the  end 
of  their  stay  on  Perc6  Rock  was  come. 

Yes,  he  would  marry  Carterette.  Yet  he  was  not 
disloyal,  even  in  memory.  What  had  belonged  to 
Guida  belonged  to  her  forever,  belonged  to  a  past  life 
with  which  henceforth  he  should  have  naught  to  do. 
What  had  sprung  up  in  his  heart  for  Carterette  be- 
longed to  the  new  life.  In  this  new  land  there  was 
work  to  do  —  what  might  he  not  accomplish  here  ?  He 
realized  that  within  one  life  a  man  may  still  live  sev- 
eral lives,  each  loyal  and  honest  after  its  kind.  A  fate 
stronger  than  himself  had  brought  him  here;  and  here 
he  would  stay  with  fate.  It  had  brought  him  to  Carte- 
rette, and  who  could  tell  what  good  and  contentment 
might  not  yet  come  to  him,  and  how  much  to  her ! 


418     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

That  evening  he  went  to  Carterette  and  asked  her 
to  be  his  wife.  She  turned  pale,  and,  looking  up  into 
his  eyes  with  a  kind  of  fear,  she  said  brokenly :  — 

"  It 's  not  because  you  feel  you  must  ?  It 's  not 
because  you  know  I  love  you,  Ranulph  —  is  it  ?  It 's 
not  for  that  alone  ?  " 

"  It  is  because  I  want  you,  Gargon  Carterette,"  he 
answered  tenderly,  "  because  life  will  be  nothing  with- 
out you." 

"  I  am  so  happy  —  par  made,  I  am  so  happy !"  she 
answered,  and  she  hid  her  face  on  his  breast. 


CHAPTER    XLI 

"PAliTRICAND,  Prince  of  Vaufontaine,  was  no 
-L'  longer  in  the  Vendee.  The  whole  of  Brittany 
was  in  the  hands  of  the  victorious  Hoche,  the  peasants 
were  disbanded,  and  his  work  for  a  time  at  least  was 
done. 

On  the  same  day  of  that  momentous  scene  in  the 
Cohue  Royale  when  Guida  was  vindicated,  Detricand 
had  carried  to  Granville  the  Comtesse  Chantavoine, 
who  presently  was  passed  over  to  the  loving  care  of 
her  kinsman  General  Grand]  on-Larisse.  This  done, 
he  proceeded  to  England. 

From  London  he  communicated  with  Grand]  on- 
Larisse,  who  applied  himself  to  secure  from  the  Direc- 
tory leave  for  the  Chouan  chieftain  to  return  to  France, 
with  amnesty  for  his  past  "  rebellion."  This  was  got  at 
last  through  the  influence  of  young  Bonaparte  himself. 
Detricand  was  free  now  to  proceed  against  Philip. 

He  straightway  devoted  himself  to  a  thing  con- 
ceived on  the  day  that  Guida  was  restored  to  her 
rightful  status  as  a  wife.  His  purpose  now  was  to 
wrest  from  Philip  the  duchy  of  Bercy.  Philip  was 
heir  by  adoption  only,  and  the  inheritance  had  been 
secured  at  the  last  by  help  of  a  lie  —  surely  his  was  a 
righteous  cause ! 

His  motives  had  not  their  origin  in  hatred  of  Philip 
alone,  nor  in  desire  for  honors  and  estates  for  himself, 
nor  in  racial  antagonism,  for  had  he  not  been  allied 


420     THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG 

with  England  in  this  war  against  the  Government  ? 
He  hated  Philip  the  man,  but  he  hated  still  more 
Philip  the  usurper  who  had  brought  shame  to  the 
escutcheon  of  Bercy.  There  was  also  at  work  another 
and  deeper  design  to  be  shown  in  good  time. 

Philip  had  retired  from  the  English  navy,  and  gone 
back  to  his  duchy  of  Bercy.  Here  he  threw  himself 
into  the  struggle  with  the  Austrians  against  the 
French.  Received  with  enthusiasm  by  the  people, 
who  as  yet  knew  little  or  nothing  of  the  doings  in  the 
Cohue  Royale,  he  now  took  over  command  of  the 
army  and  proved  himself  almost  as  able  in  the  field 
as  he  had  been  at  sea. 

Of  these  things  Detricand  knew,  and  knew  also 
that  the  lines  were  closing  in  round  the  duchy ;  that 
one  day  soon  Bonaparte  would  send  a  force  which 
should  strangle  the  little  army  and  its  Austrian  allies. 
The  game  then  would  be  another  step  nearer  the  end. 

Free  to  move  at  will,  he  visited  the  Courts  of  Prus- 
sia, Russia,  Spain,  Italy,  and  Austria,  and  laid  before 
them  his  claims  to  the  duchy,  urging  an  insistence  on 
its  neutrality,  and  a  trial  of  his  cause  against  Philip. 
Ceaselessly,  adroitly,  with  persistence  and  power,  he 
toiled  towards  his  end,  the  way  made  easier  by  tales 
told  of  his  prowess  in  the  Vendee.  He  had  offers 
without  number  to  take  service  in  foreign  armies,  but 
he  was  not  to  be  tempted.  Gossip  of  the  Courts  said 
that  there  was  some  strange  romance  behind  this 
tireless  pursuit  of  an  inheritance,  but  he  paid  no  heed. 
If  at  last  there  crept  over  Europe  wonderful  tales  of 
D6tricand's  past  life  in  Jersey,  of  the  real  Duchesse  de 
Bercy,  and  of  the  new  Prince  of  Vaufontaine,  Detri- 
cand did  not,  or  feigned  not  to  hear  them  ;  and  the 
Comtesse  Chantavoine  had  disappeared  from  public 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  421 

knowledge.  The  few  who  guessed  his  romance  were 
puzzled  to  understand  his  cause :  for  if  he  dispos- 
sessed Philip,  Guida  must  also  be  dispossessed.  This, 
certainly,  was  not  lover-like  or  friendly. 

But  Detricand  was  not  at  all  puzzled  ;  his  mind  and 
purpose  were  clear.  Guida  should  come  to  no  injury 
through  him  —  Guida  who,  as  they  left  the  Cohue 
Royale  that  day  of  days,  had  turned  on  him  a  look 
of  heavenly  trust  and  gratitude  ;  who,  in  the  midst  of 
her  own  great  happenings,  found  time  to  tell  him  by 
a  word  how  well  she  knew  he  had  kept  his  promise 
to  her,  even  beyond  belief.  Justice  for  her  was  now 
the  supreme  and  immediate  object  of  his  life.  There 
were  others  ready  also  to  care  for  France,  to  fight  for 
her,  to  die  for  her,  to  struggle  towards  the  hour  when 
the  King  should  come  to  his  own  ;  but  there  was  only 
one  man  in  the  world  who  could  achieve  Guida's  full 
justification,  and  that  was  himself,  Detricand  of  Vau- 
fontaine. 

He  was  glad  to  turn  to  the  Chevalier's  letters  from 
Jersey.  It  was  from  the  Chevalier's  lips  he  had 
learned  the  whole  course  of  Guida's  life  during  the 
four  years  of  his  absence  from  the  Island.  It  was 
the  Chevalier  who  drew  for  him  pictures  of  Guida  in 
her  new  home,  none  other  than  the  house  of  Elie 
Mattingley,  which  the  Royal  Court  having  confiscated 
now  handed  over  to  her  as  an  act  of  homage.  The 
little  world  of  Jersey  no  longer  pointed  the  finger  of 
scorn  at  Guida  Landresse  de  Landresse,  but  bent  the 
knee  to  Princess  Guida  d'Avranche. 

Detricand  wrote  many  letters  to  the  Chevalier,  and 
they  with  their  cheerful  and  humorous  allusions  were 
read  aloud  to  Guida  —  all  save  one  concerning  Philip. 
Writing  of  himself  to  the  Chevalier  on  one  occasion, 


422     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

he  laid  bare  with  a  merciless  honesty  his  nature  and 
his  career.  Concerning  neither  had  he  any  illusions. 

"  I  do  not  mistake  myself,  Chevalier,"  he  wrote, 
"  nor  these  late  doings  of  mine.  What  credit  shall  I 
take  to  myself  for  coming  to  place  and  some  little 
fame  ?  Everything  has  been  with  me  :  the  chance  of 
inheritance,  the  glory  of  a  cause  as  hopeless  as  splendid, 
and  more  splendid  because  hopeless ;  and  the  luck  of 
him  who  loads  the  dice  —  for  all  my  old  comrades, 
the  better  men,  are  dead,  and  I,  the  least  of  them  all, 
remain,  having  even  outlived  the  cause.  What  praise 
shall  I  take  for  this  ?  None  —  from  all  decent  fel- 
lows of  the  earth,  none  at  all.  It  is  merely  laughable 
that  I  should  be  left,  the  monument  of  a  sacred  loy- 
alty greater  than  the  world  has  ever  known. 

"  I  have  no  claims  —  But  let  me  draw  the  picture, 
dear  Chevalier.  Here  was  a  discredited,  dissolute 
fellow  whose  life  was  worth  a  pin  to  nobody.  Tired 
of  the  husks  and  the  swine,  and  all  his  follies  grown 
stale  by  over-use,  he  takes  the  advice  of  a  good  gentle- 
man, and  joins  the  standard  of  work  and  sacrifice. 
What  greater  luxury  shall  man  ask  ?  If  this  be  not 
running  the  full  scale  of  life's  enjoyment,  pray  you 
what  is  !  The  world  loves  contrasts.  The  deep-dyed 
sinner  raising  the  standard  of  piety  is  picturesque.  If, 
charmed  by  his  own  new  virtues,  he  is  constant  in  his 
enthusiasm,  behold  a  St.  Augustine  !  Everything  is 
with  the  returned  prodigal  —  the  more  so  if  he  be  of 
the  notorious  Vaufontaines,  who  were  ever  saints 
turned  sinners,  or  sinners  turned  saints. 

"Tell  me,  my  good  friend,  where  is  room  for  pride 
in  me?  I  am  getting  far  more  out  of  life  than  I 
deserve ;  it  is  not  well  that  you  and  others  should 
think  better  of  me  than  I  do  of  myself.  I  do  not 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     423 

pretend  that  I  dislike  it,  it  is  as  balm  to  me.  But  it 
would  seem  that  the  world  is  monstrously  unjust. 
One  day  when  I  'm  grown  old  —  I  cannot  imagine 
what  else  Fate  has  spared  me  for  —  I  shall  write  the 
Diary  of  a  Sinner,  the  whole  truth.  I  shall  tell  how 
when  my  peasant  fighters  were  kneeling  round  me 
praying  for  success,  even  thanking  God  for  me,  I  was 
smiling  in  my  glove  —  in  scorn  of  myself,  not  of  them, 
Chevalier,  no,  no,  not  of  them  !  The  peasant's  is  the 
true  greatness.  Everything  is  with  the  aristocrat ;  he 
has  to  kick  the  great  chances  from  his  path  ;  but  the 
peasant  must  go  hunting  them  in  peril.  Hardly  snatch- 
ing sustenance  from  Fate,  the  peasant  fights  into 
greatness ;  the  aristocrat  may  only  win  to  it  by  reject- 
ing Fate's  luxuries.  The  peasant  never  escapes  the 
austere  teaching  of  hard  experience,  the  aristocrat  the 
languor  of  good  fortune.  There  is  the  peasant  and 
there  am  I.  Voila  !  enough  of  Detricand  of  Vaufon- 
taine.  .  .  .  The  Princess  Guida  and  the  child,  are 
they  "  — 

So  the  letter  ran,  and  the  Chevalier  read  it  aloud 
to  Guida  up  to  the  point  where  her  name  was  writ. 
Afterwards  Guida  would  sit  and  think  of  what  D6tri- 
cand  had  said,  and  of  the  honesty  of  nature  that  never 
allowed  him  to  deceive  himself.  It  pleased  her  also 
to  think  she  had  in  some  small  way  helped  a  man  to 
the  rehabilitation  of  his  life.  He  had  said  that  she 
had  helped  him,  and  she  believed  him ;  he  had  proved 
the  soundness  of  his  aims  and  ambitions ;  his  career 
was  in  the  world's  mouth. 

The  one  letter  the  Chevalier  did  not  read  to  Guida 
referred  to  Philip.  In  it  Detricand  begged  the  Cheva- 
lier to  hold  himself  in  readiness  to  proceed  at  a  day's 
notice  to  Paris. 


424     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

So  it  was  that  when,  after  months  of  waiting,  the 
Chevalier  suddenly  left  St.  Heliers  to  join  Detricand, 
Guida  did  not  know  the  object  of  his  journey.  All 
she  knew  was  that  he  had  leave  from  the  Directory  to 
visit  Paris.  Imagining  this  to  mean  some  good  fortune 
for  him,  with  a  light  heart  she  sent  him  off  in  charge  of 
Jean  Touzel,  who  took  him  to  St.  Malo  in  the  Hardi 
Biaou,  and  saw  him  safely  into  the  hands  of  an  escort 
from  Detricand. 


CHAPTER   XLII 

THREE  days  later  there  was  opened  in  one  of 
the  chambers  of  the  Emperor's  palace  at  Vienna 
a  Congress  of  four  nations  —  Prussia,  Russia,  Austria, 
and  Sardinia.  De'tricand's  labors  had  achieved  this 
result  at  last.  Grandjon-Larisse,  his  old  enemy  in 
battle,  now  his  personal  friend  and  colleague  in  this 
business,  had  influenced  Napoleon,  and  the  Directory 
through  him,  to  respect  the  neutrality  of  the  duchy 
of  Bercy,  for  which  the  four  nations  of  this  Congress 
declared.  Philip  himself  little  knew  whose  hand  had 
secured  the  neutrality  until  summoned  to  appear  at 
the  Congress,  to  defend  his  rights  to  the  title  and 
the  duchy  against  those  of  Detricand  Prince  of  Vau- 
fontaine.  Had  he  known  that  Detricand  was  behind 
it  all  he  would  have  fought  on  to  the  last  gasp  of 
power  and  died  on  the  battle-field.  He  realized  now 
that  such  a  fate  was  not  for  him  —  that  he  must 
fight,  not  on  the  field  of  battle  like  a  prince,  but  in  a 
Court  of  Nations  like  a  doubtful  claimant  of  sovereign 
honors. 

His  whole  story  had  become  known  in  the  duchy, 
and  though  it  begot  no  feeling  against  him  in  war- 
time, now  that  Bercy  was  in  a  neutral  zone  of  peace 
there  was  much  talk  of  the  wrongs  of  Guida  and  the 
Comtesse  Chantavoine.  He  became  moody  and  sat- 
urnine, and  saw  few  of  his  subjects  save  the  old 
Governor-General  and  his  whilom  enemy,  now  his 


426     THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG 

friend,  Comte  Carignan  Damour.  That  at  last  he 
should  choose  to  accompany  him  to  Vienna  the  man 
who  had  been  his  foe  during  the  lifetime  of  the  old 
Duke  seemed  incomprehensible.  Yet,  to  all  appear- 
ance, Damour  was  now  Philip's  zealous  adherent.  He 
came  frankly  repenting  his  old  enmity,  and  though 
Philip  did  not  quite  believe  him,  some  perverse  tem- 
per, some  obliquity  of  vision  which  overtakes  the 
ablest  minds  at  times,  made  him  almost  eagerly  ac- 
cept his  new  partisan.  One  thing  Philip  knew: 
Damour  had  no  love  for  Detricand,  who  indeed  had 
lately  sent  him  word  that  for  his  work  in  sending 
Fouche's  men  to  attempt  his  capture  in  Bercy,  he 
would  have  him  shot,  if  the  Court  of  Nations  upheld 
his  rights  to  the  duchy.  Damour  was  able,  even  if 
Damour  was  not  honest.  Damour,  the  able,  the 
implacable  and  malignant,  should  accompany  him  to 
Vienna. 

The  opening  ceremony  of  the  Congress  was  simple, 
but  it  was  made  notable  by  the  presence  of  the 
Emperor  of  Austria,  who  addressed  a  few  words  of 
welcome  to  the  envoys,  to  Philip,  and,  very  pointedly, 
to  the  representative  of  the  French  Nation,  the  aged 
Due  de  Mauban,  who,  while  taking  no  active  part  in 
the  Congress,  was  present  by  request  of  the  Directory. 
The  Duke's  long  residence  in  Vienna  and  freedom 
from  share  in  the  civil  war  in  France  had  been  factors 
in  the  choice  of  him  when  the  name  was  submitted 
to  the  Directory  by  General  Grand]  on-Larisse,  upon 
whom  in  turn  it  had  been  urged  by  Detricand. 

The  Due  de  Mauban  was  the  most  marked  figure  of 
the  Court,  the  Emperor  not  excepted.  Clean  shaven, 
with  snowy  linen  and  lace,  his  own  natural  hair,  silver 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  427 

white,  tied  in  a  queue  behind,  he  had  large  eloquent 
wondering  eyes  that  seemed  always  looking,  looking 
beyond  the  thing  he  saw.  At  first  sight  of  him  at 
his  court,  the  Emperor  had  said,  "  The  stars  have 
frightened  him."  No  fanciful  supposition,  for  the 
Due  de  Mauban  was  as  well  known  an  astronomer  as 
student  of  history  and  philanthropist. 

When  the  Emperor  mentioned  de  Mauban's  name 
Philip  wondered  where  he  had  heard  it  before.  Some- 
thing in  the  sound  of  it  was  associated  with  his  past, 
he  knew  not  how.  He  had  a  curious  feeling,  too,  that 
those  deliberate,  searching  dark  eyes  saw  the  end  of 
this  fight,  this  battle  of  the  strong.  The  face  fasci- 
nated him,  though  it  awed  him.  He  admired  it,  even 
as  he  detested  the  ardent  strength  of  Detricand's 
face,  where  the  wrinkles  of  dissipation  had  given 
way  to  the  bronzed  carven  look  of  the  war-beaten 
soldier. 

It  was  fair  battle  between  these  two,  and  there  was 
enough  hatred  in  the  heart  of  each  to  make  the  fight 
deadly.  He  knew  —  and  he  had  known  since  that 
day,  years  ago,  in  the  Place  du  Vier  Prison  —  that 
Detricand  loved  the  girl  whom  he  himself  had  mar- 
ried and  dishonored.  He  felt  also  that  De"tricand  was 
making  this  claim  to  the  duchy  more  out  of  vengeance 
than  from  desire  to  secure  the  title  for  himself.  He 
read  the  whole  deep  scheme  :  how  Detricand  had  laid 
his  mine  at  every  Court  in  Europe  to  bring  him  to  this 
pass. 

For  hours  Philip's  witnesses  were  examined,  among 
them  the  officers  of  his  duchy  and  Comte  Carignan 
Damour.  The  physician  of  the  old  Due  de  Bercy 
was  examined,  and  the  evidence  was  with  Philip. 
The  testimony  of  Dalbarade,  the  French  ex-Minister 


428  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

of  Marine,  was  read  and  considered.  Philip's  story  up 
to  the  point  of  the  formal  signature  by  the  old  Duke 
was  straightforward  and  clear.  So  far  the  Court  was 
in  his  favor. 

Detricand,  as  natural  heir  of  the  duchy,  combated 
each  step  in  the  proceedings  from  the  standpoint  of 
legality,  of  the  Duke's  fatuity  concerning  Philip,  and 
his  personal  hatred  of  the  House  of  Vaufontaine.  On 
the  third  day,  when  the  Congress  would  give  its 
decision,  Detricand  brought  the  Chevalier  to  the  pal- 
ace. At  the  opening  of  the  sitting  he  requested  that 
Damour  be  examined  again.  The  Count  was  asked 
what  question  had  been  put  to  Philip  immediately 
before  the  deeds  of  inheritance  were  signed.  It  was 
useless  for  Damour  to  evade  the  point,  for  there  were 
other  officers  of  the  duchy  present  who  could  have 
told  the  truth.  Yet  this  truth,  of  itself,  need  not  ruin 
Philip.  It  was  no  phenomenon  for  a  prince  to  have 
one  wife  unknown,  and,  coming  to  the  throne,  to  take 
to  himself  another  more  exalted. 

Detricand  was  hoping  that  the  nice  legal  sense  of 
mine  and  thine  should  be  suddenly  weighted  in  his 
favor  by  a  prepared  tour  de  force.  The  sympathies 
of  the  Congress  were  largely  with  himself,  for  he  was 
of  the  order  of  the  nobility,  and  Philip's  descent 
must  be  traced  through  centuries  of  yeoman  blood  ; 
yet  there  was  the  deliberate  adoption  by  the  Duke  to 
face,  with  the  formal  assent  of  the  States  of  Bercy, 
but  little  lessened  in  value  by  the  fact  that  the  French 
'  Government  had  sent  its  emissaries  to  Bercy  to 
protest  against  it.  The  Court  had  come  to  a  point 
where  decision  upon  the  exact  legal  merits  of  the  case 
was  difficult. 

After  Damour  had   testified  to  the  question  the 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  429 

Duke  asked  Philip  when  signing  the  deeds  at  Bercy, 
Detricand  begged  leave  to  introduce  another  witness, 
and  brought  in  the  Chevalier.  Now  he  made  his 
great  appeal.  Simply,  powerfully,  he  told  the  story 
of  Philip's  secret  marriage  with  Guida,  and  of  all 
that  came  after,  up  to  the  scene  in  the  Cohue  Royale 
when  the  marriage  was  proved  and  the  child  given 
back  to  Guida;  when  the  Comtesse  Chantavoine,  turn- 
ing from  Philip,  acknowledged  to  Guida  the  justice  of 
her  claim.  He  drove  home  the  truth  with  bare  un- 
varnished power  —  the  wrong  to  Guida,  the  wrong  to 
the  Countess,  the  wrong  to  the  Dukedom  of  Bercy, 
to  that  honor  which  should  belong  to  those  in  high 
estate.  Then  at  the  last  he  told  them  who  Guida 
was  :  no  peasant  girl,  but  the  granddaughter  of  the 
Sieur  Larchant  de  Mauprat  of  the  de  Mauprats  of 
Chambery ;  the  granddaughter  of  an  exile  indeed,  but 
of  the  noblest  blood  of  France. 

The  old  Due  de  Mauban  fixed  his  look  on  him  in- 
tently, and  as  the  story  proceeded  his  hand  grasped 
the  table  before  him  in  strong  emotion.  When  at 
last  Detricand  turned  to  the  Chevalier  and  asked  him 
to  bear  witness  to  the  truth  of  what  he  had  said,  the 
Duke,  in  agitation,  whispered  to  the  President. 

All  that  Detricand  had  said  moved  the  Court  pow- 
erfully, but  when  the  withered  little  flower  of  a  man, 
the  Chevalier,  told  in  quaint  brief  sentences  the  story 
of  the  Sieur  de  Mauprat,  his  sufferings,  his  exile,  and 
the  nobility  of  his  family,  which  had,  indeed,  far  back, 
come  of  royal  stock,  and  then  at  last  of  Guida  and  the 
child,  more  than  one  member  of  the  Court  turned  his 
head  away  with  misty  eyes. 

It  remained  for  the  Due  de  Mauban  to  speak  the 
word  which  hastened  and  compelled  the  end.  Rising 


430     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

in  his  place,  he  addressed  to  the  Court  a  few  words  of 
apology,  inasmuch  as  he  was  without  real  power  there, 
and  then  he  turned  to  the  Chevalier. 

"Monsieur  le  Chevalier,"  said  he,  "I  had  the  honor 
to  know  you  in  somewhat  better  days  for  both  of  us. 
You  will  allow  me  to  greet  you  here  with  my  pro- 
found respect.  The  Sieur  Larchant  de  Mauprat  "  — 
he  turned  to  the  President,  his  voice  became  louder 
—  "the  Sieur  de  Mauprat  was  my  friend.  He  was 
with  me  upon  the  day  I  married  the  Duchess  Guida- 
baldine.  Trouble,  exile  came  to  him.  Years  passed, 
and  at  last  in  Jersey  I  saw  him  again.  It  was  the 
very  day  his  grandchild  was  born.  The  name  given 
to  her  was  Guidabaldine,  —  the  name  of  the  Duchesse 
de  Mauban.  She  was  Guidabaldine  Landresse  de 
Landresse,  she  is  my  godchild.  There  is  no  better 
blood  in  France  than  that  of  the  de  Mauprats  of 
Chambery,  and  the  grandchild  of  my  friend,  her  father 
being  also  of  good  Norman  blood,  was  worthy  to  be 
the  wife  of  any  prince  in  Europe.  I  speak  in  the 
name  of  our  order,  I  speak  for  Frenchmen,  I  speak 
for  France.  If  De"tricand,  Prince  of  Vaufontaine,  be 
not  secured  in  his  right  of  succession  to  the  dukedom 
of  Bercy,  France  will  not  cease  to  protest  till  protest 
hath  done  its  work.  From  France  the  duchy  of  Bercy 
came.  It  was  the  gift  of  a  French  king  to  a  French- 
man, and  she  hath  some  claims  upon  the  courtesy  of 
the  nations." 

For  a  moment  after  he  took  his  seat  there  was  abso- 
lute silence.  Then  the  President  wrote  upon  a  paper 
before  him,  and  it  was  passed  to  each  member  of  the 
Court  sitting  with  him.  For  a  moment  longer  there 
was  nothing  heard  save  the  scratching  of  a  quill. 
Philip  recalled  that  day  at  Bercy  when  the  Duke 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     431 

stooped  and  signed  his  name  upon  the  deed  of  adop- 
tion and  succession  three  times  —  three  fateful  times. 

At  last  the  President,  rising  in  his  place,  read  the 
pronouncement  of  the  Court  :  that  Detricand,  Prince 
of  Vaufontaine,  be  declared  true  inheritor  of  the 
duchy  of  Bercy,  the  nations  represented  here  con- 
firming him  in  his  title. 

The  President  having  spoken,  Philip  rose,  and,  bow- 
ing to  the  Congress  with  dignity  and  composure,  left 
the  chamber  with  Comte  Carignan  Damour. 

As  he  passed  from  the  portico  into  the  grounds  of 
the  palace,  a  figure  came  suddenly  from  behind  a 
pillar  and  touched  him  on  the  arm.  He  turned 
quickly,  and  received  upon  the  face  a  blow  from  a 
glove. 

The  owner  of  the  glove  was  General  Grandjon- 
Larisse. 


CHAPTER    XLIII 

""\/OU    understand,    monsieur?"    said   Grand]  on- 

JL     Larisse. 

"  Perfectly  —  and  without  the  glove,  Monsieur  le 
General,"  answered  Philip  quietly.  "  Where  shall  my 
seconds  wait  upon  you  ?  "  As  he  spoke  he  turned 
with  a  slight  gesture  towards  Damour. 

"  In  Paris,  monsieur,  if  it  please  you." 

"  I  should  have  preferred  it  here,  Monsieur  le 
General  —  but  Paris,  if  it  is  your  choice." 

"  At  22,  Rue  de  Mazarine,  monsieur."  Then  he 
made  an  elaborate  bow  to  Philip.  "  I  bid  you  good- 
day,  monsieur." 

"  Monseigneiir,  not  monsieur?  Philip  corrected. 
"  They  may  deprive  me  of  my  duchy,  but  I  am  still 
Prince  Philip  d'Avranche.  I  may  not  be  robbed  of 
my  adoption." 

There  was  something  so  steady,  so  infrangible  in 
Philip's  composure  now,  that  Grandjon-Larisse,  who 
had  come  to  challenge  a  great  adventurer,  a  marauder 
of  honor,  found  his  furious  contempt  checked  by  some 
integral  power  resisting  disdain.  He  intended  to  kill 
Philip,  —  he  was  one  of  the  most  expert  swordsmen  in 
France,  —  yet  he  was  constrained  to  respect  a  com- 
posure not  sang-froid  and  a  firmness  in  misfortune  not 
bravado.  Philip  was  still  the  man  who  had  valiantly 
commanded  men;  who  had  held  of  the  high  places 
of  the  earth.  In  whatever  adventurous  blood  his 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  433 

purposes  had  been  conceived,  or  his  doubtful  plans 
accomplished,  he  was  still,  stripped  of  power,  a  man 
to  be  reckoned  with :  resolute  in  his  course  once 
set  upon,  and  impulsive  towards  good  as  towards 
evil.  He  was  never  so  much  worth  respect  as  when^ 
a  dispossessed  sovereign  with  an  empty  title,  dis- 
countenanced by  his  order,  disbarred  his  profession, 
he  held  himself  ready  to  take  whatever  penalty  now 
came. 

In  the  presence  of  General  Grand]  on-Larisse,  with 
whom  was  the  might  of  righteous  vengeance,  he  was 
the  more  distinguished  figure.  To  Philip  now  there 
came  the  cold  quiet  of  the  sinner,  great  enough  to 
rise  above  physical  fear,  proud  enough  to  say  to  the 
world,  "  Come,  I  pay  the  debt  I  owe.  We  are  quits. 
You  have  no  favors  to  give,  and  I  none  to  take.  You 
have  no  pardon  to  grant,  and  I  none  to  ask." 

At  parting  Grand]  on-Larisse  bowed  to  Philip  with 
great  politeness,  and  said,  "In  Paris  then,  Monsieur 
le  Prince." 

Philip  bowed  his  head  in  assent. 

When  they  met  again,  it  was  at  the  entrance  to  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne  near  the  Maillot  gate. 

It  was  a  damp  gray  morning  immediately  before 
sunrise,  and  at  first  there  was  scarce  light  enough  for 
the  combatants  to  see  each  other  perfectly,  but  both 
were  eager  and  would  not  delay. 

As  they  came  on  guard  the  sun  rose.  Philip,  where 
he  stood,  was  full  in  its  light.  He  took  no  heed,  and 
they  engaged  at  once.  After  a  few  passes  Grandj on- 
Larisse  said,  "  You  are  in  the  light,  monseigneur  ;  the 
sun  shines  full  upon  you,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  shade 
of  a  wall  near  by.  "  It  is  darker  there." 


434     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

"  One  of  us  must  certainly  be  in  the  dark  —  soon," 
answered  Philip  grimly,  but  he  removed  to  the  wall. 

From  the  first  Philip  took  the  offensive.  He  was 
more  active,  and  he  was  quicker  and  lighter  of  fence 
than  his  antagonist.  But  Grand jon-Larisse  had  the 
surer  eye,  and  was  invincibly  certain  of  hand  and 
strong  of  wrist.  At  length  Philip  wounded  his  oppo- 
nent slightly  in  the  left  breast,  and  the  seconds  came 
forward  to  declare  that  honor  was  satisfied.  But  nei- 
ther would  listen  or  heed  ;  their  purpose  was  fixed  to 
fight  to  the  death.  They  engaged  again,  and  almost 
at  once  the  Frenchman  was  slightly  wounded  in  the 
wrist.  Suddenly  taking  the  offensive  and  lunging 
freely,  Grand]  on-Larisse  drove  Philip,  now  heated  and 
less  wary,  backwards  upon  the  wall.  At  last,  by  a 
dexterous  feint,  he  beat  aside  Philip's  guard  and  drove 
the  sword  through  his  right  breast  at  one  fierce  lunge. 

With  a  moan  Philip  swayed  and  fell  forward  into 
the  arms  of  Damour,  still  grasping  his  weapon. 

Grand] on-Larisse  stooped  to  the  injured  man.  Un- 
loosing his  fingers  from  the  sword,  Philip  stretched 
up  a  hand  to  his  enemy. 

"  I  am  hurt  to  death,"  he  said.  "  Permit  my  com- 
pliments to  the  best  swordsman  I  have  ever  known." 
Then  with  a  touch  of  sorry  humor  he  added :  "  You 
cannot  doubt  their  sincerity !  " 

Grand  jon-Larisse  was  turning  away  when  Philip 
called  him  back.  "  Will  you  carry  my  profound  regret 
to  the  Comtesse  Chantavoine  ?  "  he  whispered.  "  Say 
that  it  lies  with  her  whether  Heaven  pardon  me." 

Grand]  on-Larisse  hesitated  an  instant,  then  an- 
swered :  — 

"  Those  who  are  in  heaven,  monseigneur,  know  best 
what  Heaven  may  do." 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  435 

Philip's  pale  face  took  on  a  look  of  agony.  "  She 
is  dead  —  she  is  dead  !  "  he  gasped. 

Grand] on- Larisse  inclined  his  head,  then  after  a 
moment,  gravely  said  :  — 

"  What  did  you  think  was  left  for  a  woman  —  for  a 
Chantavoine  ?  It  is  not  the  broken  heart  that  kills, 
but  broken  pride,  monseigneur." 

So  saying,  he  bowed  again  to  Philip  and  turned 
upon  his  heel. 


CHAPTER    XLIV 

T)HILIP  lay  on  a  bed  in  the  unostentatious  lodging 
±.  in  the  Rue  de  Vaugirard  where  Damour  had 
brought  him.  The  surgeon  had  pronounced  the 
wound  mortal,  giving  him  but  a  few  hours  to  live. 
For  long  after  he  was  gone  Philip  was  silent,  but  at 
length  he  said :  "  You  heard  what  Grand]  on- Larisse 
said  —  It  is  broken  pride  that  kills,  Damour."  Then 
he  asked  for  pen,  ink,  and  paper.  They  were  brought 
to  him.  He  tried  the  pen  upon  the  paper,  but  faint- 
ness  suddenly  seized  him,  and  he  fell  back  uncon- 
scious. 

When  he  came  to  himself  he  was  alone  in  the  room. 
It  was  cold  and  cheerless  —  no  fire  on  the  hearth,  no 
light  save  that  flaring  from  a  lamp  in  the  street  out- 
side his  window.  He  rang  the  bell  at  his  hand.  No 
one  answered.  He  called  aloud  :  "  Damour !  Damour ! " 

Damour  was  far  beyond  earshot.  He  had  bethought 
him  that  now  his  place  was  in  Bercy,  where  he  might 
gather  up  what  fragments  of  good  fortune  remained, 
what  of  Philip's  valuables  might  be  secured.  Ere  he 
had  fallen  back  insensible,  Philip,  in  trying  the  pen, 
had  written  his  own  name  on  a  piece  of  paper.  Above 
this  Damour  wrote  for  himself  an  order  upon  the  cham- 
berlain of  Bercy  to  enter  upon  Philip's  private  apart- 
ments in  the  castle ;  and  thither  he  was  fleeing  as  Philip 
lay  dying  in  the  dark  room  of  the  house  in  the  Rue 
de  Vaugirard. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  437 

The  woman  of  the  house,  to  whose  care  Philip  was 
passed  over  by  Damour,  had  tired  of  watching,  and 
had  gone  to  spend  one  of  his  gold  pieces  for  supper 
with  her  friends. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  dark  comfortless  room,  the  light 
from  without  flickering  upon  his  blanched  face,  Philip 
was  alone  with  himself,  with  memory,  and  with  death. 
As  he  lay  gasping,  a  voice  seemed  to  ring  through 
the  silent  room,  repeating  the  same  words  again  and 
again  —  and  the  voice  was  his  own  voice.  It  was 
himself  —  some  other  outside  self  of  him.  —  saying,  in 
tireless  repetition  :  "  May  I  die  a  black,  dishonorable 
death,  abandoned  and  alone,  if  ever  I  deceive  you.  I 
should  deserve  that  if  I  deceived  you,  Guida  /  .  .  . 
A  black,  dishonorable  death,  abandoned  and  alone :  " 
it  was  like  some  horrible  dirge  chanting  in  his  ear. 

Pictures  flashed  before  his  eyes,  strange  imaginings. 
Now  he  was  passing  through  dark  corridors,  and  the 
stone  floor  beneath  was  cold  —  so  cold  !  He  was  going 
to  some  gruesome  death,  and  monks  with  voices  like 
his  own  voice  were  intoning,  "Abandoned  and  alone. 
Alone — alone — abandoned  and  alone."  .  .  .  And  now 
he  was  fighting,  fighting  on  board  the  Araminta.  There 
was  the  roar  of  the  great  guns,  the  screaming  of  the 
carronade  slides,  the  rattle  of  musketry,  the  groans  of 
the  dying,  the  shouts  of  his  victorious  sailors,  the 
crash  of  the  main-mast  as  it  fell  upon  the  bulwarks. 
Then  the  swift  sissing  ripple  of  water,  the  thud  of  the 
Araminta  as  she  struck,  and  the  cold  chill  of  the  seas 
as  she  went  down.  How  cold  was  the  sea — ah,  how 
it  chilled  every  nerve  and  tissue  of  his  body  ! 

He  roused  to  consciousness  again.  Here  was  still 
the  blank  cheerless  room,  the  empty  house,  the  lamp- 
light flaring  through  the  window  upon  his  stricken 


438     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

face,  upon  the  dark  walls,  upon  the  white  paper  lying 
on  the  table  beside  him. 

Paper — ah,  that  was  it,  — he  must  write,  he  must 
write,  while  he  had  strength.  With  the  last  coura- 
geous effort  of  life,  his  strenuous  will  forcing  the  de- 
clining powers  into  obedience  for  a  final  combat,  he 
drew  the  paper  near,  and  began  to  write.  The  light 
nickered,  wavered,  he  could  just  see  the  letters  that 
he  formed  —  no  more. 

"  Guida,"  he  began,  tf  on  the  Ecrehos  I  said  to  you, 
'  If  I  deceive  yoti  may  I  die  a  black,  dishonorable 
death,  abandoned  and  alone  !  '  It  has  all  come  true. 
You  were  right,  always  right,  and  I  was  always  wrong. 
I  never  started  fair  with  myself  or  with  the  world.  I 
was  always  in  too  great  a  hurry  ;  I  was  too  ambitious, 
Guida.  Ambition  has  killed  me,  and  it  has  killed 
her  —  the  Countess.  She  is  gone.  What  was  it  he 
said  —  if  I  could  but  remember  what  Grandjon-Larisse 
said  — ••  ah  yes,  yes  !  —  after  he  had  given  me  my  death- 
wound,  he  said,  '  It  is  not  the  broken  heart  that  kills, 
but  broken  pride.'  There  is  the  truth.  She  is  in  her 
grave,  and  I  am  going  out  into  the  dark." 

He  lay  back  exhausted  for  a  moment,  in  desperate 
estate.  The  body  was  fighting  hard  that  the  spirit 
might  confess  itself  before  the  vital  spark  died  down 
forever.  Seizing  a  glass  of  cordial  near  he  drank  of 
it.  The  broken  figure  in  its  mortal  defeat  roused  it- 
self again,  leaned  over  the  paper,  and  a  shaking  hand 
traced  on  the  brief  piteous  record  of  a  life. 

"I  climbed  too  fast.  Things  dazzled  me.  I 
thought  too  much  of  myself  —  myself,  myself  was 
everything  always ;  and  myself  has  killed  me.  In 
wanton  haste  I  came  to  be  admiral  and  sovereign 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  439 

duke,  and  it  has  all  come  to  nothing  —  nothing.  I 
wronged  you,  I  denied  you,  there  was  the  cause  of 
all.  There  is  no  one  to  watch  with  me  now  to  the 
one  moment  of  life  that  counts.  In  this  hour  the 
clock  of  time  fills  all  the  space  between  earth  and 
heaven.  It  will  strike  soon  —  the  awful  clock.  It 
will  soon  strike  twelve  :  and  then  it  will  be  twelve  of 
the  clock  for  me  always  — always. 

"  I  know  you  never  wanted  revenge  on  me,  Guida, 
but  still  you  have  it  here.  My  life  is  no  more  now 
than  vraic  upon  a  rock.  I  cling,  I  cling,  but  that  is 
all,  and  the  waves  break  over  me.  I  am  no  longer 
an  admiral,  I  am  no  more  a  duke  —  I  am  nothing.  It 
is  all  done.  Of  no  account  with  men  I  am  going  to 
my  judgment  with  God.  But  you  remain,  and  you 
are  Princess  Philip  d'Avranche,  and  your  son  —  your 
son  —  will  be  Prince  Guilbert  d'Avranche.  But  I 
can  leave  him  nought,  neither  estates  nor  power. 
There  is  little  honor  in  the  title  now.  So  it  may  be 
you  will  not  use  it.  But  you  will  have  a  new  life : 
with  my  death  happiness  may  begin  again  for  you. 
That  thought  makes  death  easier.  I  was  never 
worthy  of  you,  never.  I  understand  myself  now, 
and  I  know  that  you  have  read  me  all  these  years, 
read  me  through  and  through.  The  letter  you  wrote 
me,  never  a  day  or  night  has  passed  but,  one  way  or 
another,  it  has  come  home  to  me." 

There  was  a  footfall  outside  his  window.  A  roys- 
terer  went  by  in  the  light  of  the  flaring  lamp.  He 
was  singing  a  ribald  song.  A  dog  ran  barking  at  his 
heels.  The  reveler  turned,  drew  his  sword,  and  ran 
the  dog  through,  then  staggered  on  with  his  song. 
Philip  shuddered,  and  with  a  supreme  effort  bent  to 
the  table  again,  and  wrote  on. 


440  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

"  You  were  right :  you  were  my  star,  and  I  was  so 
blind  with  selfishness  and  vanity  I  could  not  see.  I 
am  speaking  the  truth  to  you  now,  Guida.  I  believe 
I  might  have  been  a  great  man  if  I  had  thought  less 
of  myself  and  more  of  others,  more  of  you.  Great- 
ness, I  was  mad  for  that,  and  my  madness  has  brought 
me  to  this  desolate  end  —  alone.  Go  tell  Maitresse 
Aimable  that  she,  too,  was  a  good  prophet.  Tell  her 
that,  as  she  foresaw,  I  called  your  name  in  death,  and 
you  did  not  come  !  One  thing  before  all :  teach  your 
boy  never  to  try  to  be  great,  but  always  to  live  well 
and  to  be  just.  Teach  him,  too,  that  the  world  means 
better  by  him  than  he  thinks,  and  that  he  must  never 
treat  it  as  his  foe  ;  he  must  not  try  to  force  its  bene- 
fits and  rewards.  He  must  not  approach  it  like  the 
highwayman.  Tell  him  never  to  flatter.  That  is  the 
worst  fault  in  a  gentleman,  for  flattery  makes  false 
friends  and  the  flatterer  himself  false.  Tell  him  that 
good  address  is  for  ease  and  courtesy  of  life,  but  it 
must  not  be  used  to  one's  secret  advantage  —  as  I 
have  used  mine  to  mortal  undoing.  If  ever  Guilbert 
be  in  great  temptation,  tell  him  his  father's  story,  and 
read  him  these  words  to  you,  written,  as  you  see, 
with  the  cramped  fingers  of  death." 

He  could  scarcely  hold  the  pen  now,  and  his  eyes 
were  growing  dim. 

"  I  am  come  to  the  end  of  my  strength.  I  thought 
I  loved  you,  Guida,  but  I  know  now  that  it  was  not 
love  —  not  real  love.  Yet  it  was  all  a  twisted  man- 
hood had  to  give.  There  are  some  things  of  mine 
that  you  will  keep  for  your  son,  if  you  forgive  me 
dead  whom  you  despised  living.  D^tricand  Due  de 
Bercy  will  deal  honorably  by  you.  All  that  is  mine 
at  the  Castle  of  Bercy  he  will  secure  to  you.  Tell 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  441 

him  I  have  written  it  so  ;  though  he  will  do  it  of  him- 
self, I  know.  He  is  a  great  man.  As  I  have  gone 
downwards  he  has  come  upwards.  There  has  been  a 
star  in  his  sky  too.  I  know  it,  I  know  it,  Guida,  and 
he  —  he  is  not  blind."  He  trembled  violently.  "The 
light  is  going,  I  cannot  see.  I  can  only"  — 

He  struggled  fiercely  for  breath,  but  suddenly  col- 
lapsed upon  the  table,  and  his  head  fell  forward  upon 
the  paper ;  one  cheek  lying  in  the  wet  ink  of  his 
last  written  words,  the  other,  cold  and  stark,  turned 
to  the  window.  The  light  from  the  lamp  without 
flickered  on  it  in  gruesome  sportiveness.  The  eyes 
stared  and  stared  from  the  little  dark  room  out  into 
the  world.  But  they  did  not  see. 

The  night  wore  on.  At  last  came  a  knocking, 
knocking  at  the  door  —  tap !  tap  !  tap  !  But  he  did 
not  hear.  A  moment  of  silence,  and  again  came  a 
knocking  —  knocking  —  knocking  .  .  . 


CHAPTER    XLV 

white  and  red  flag  of  Jersey  was  flying  half- 
JL  mast  from  the  Cohue  Royale,  and  the  bell  of 
the  parish  church  was  tolling.  It  was  Saturday,  but 
little  business  was  being  done  in  the  Vier  Marchi. 
Chattering  people  were  gathered  at  familiar  points, 
and  at  the  foot  of  La  Pyramide  a  large  group  s,ur- 
rounded  two  sailor-men  just  come  from  Gaspe,  bring- 
ing news  of  adventuring  Jersiais  —  Elie  Mattingley, 
Carterette  and  Ranulph  Delagarde.  This  audience 
quickly  grew,  for  word  was  being  passed  on  from  one 
little  group  to  another.  So  keen  was  interest  in  the 
story  told  by  the  home-coming  sailors,  that  the  great 
event  which  had  brought  them  to  the  Vier  Marchi 
was,  for  the  moment,  almost  neglected. 

Presently,  however,  a  cannon-shot,  then  another, 
and  another,  roused  the  people  to  remembrance.  The 
funeral  cortege  of  Admiral  Prince  Philip  d'Avranche 
was  about  to  leave  the  Cohue  Royale,  and  every  eye 
was  turned  to  the  marines  and  sailors  lining  the  road 
from  the  court-house  to  the  church. 

The  Isle  of  Jersey,  ever  stubbornly  loyal  to  its  own 
—  even  those  whom  the  outside  world  contemned  or 
cast  aside  —  jealous  of  its  dignity  even  with  the  dead, 
had  come  to  bury  Philip  d'Avranche  with  all  good 
ceremony.  There  had  been  abatements  to  his  honor, 
but  he  had  been  a  strong  man  and  he  had  done  strong 
things,  and  he  was  a  Jersey  man  born,  a  Norman  of 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     443 

the  Normans.  The  Royal  Court  had  judged  between 
him  and  Guida,  doing  tardy  justice  to  her,  but  of 
him  they  had  ever  been  proud ;  and  where  con- 
science condemned  here,  vanity  commerided  there. 
In  any  event  they  reserved  the  right,  independent  of 
all  non-Jersiais,  to  do  what  they  chose  with  their 
dead. 

For  what  Philip  had  been  as  an  admiral  they  would 
do  his  body  reverence  now ;  for  what  he  had  done  as  a 
man,  that  belonged  to  another  tribunal.  It  had  been 
proposed  by  the  Admiral  of  the  station  to  bury  him 
from  his  old  ship,  the  Imperturbable,  but  the  Royal 
Court  made  its  claim,  and  so  his  body  had  lain  in 
state  in  the  Cohue  Royale.  The  Admiral  joined 
hands  with  the  Island  authorities.  In  both  cases  it 
was  a  dogged  loyalty.  The  sailors  of  England  knew 
Philip  d'Avranche  as  a  fighter,  even  as  the  Royal 
Court  knew  him  as  a  famous  and  dominant  Jersey- 
man.  A  battle-ship  is  a  world  of  its  own,  and  Jersey 
is  a  world  of  its  own.  They  neither  knew  nor  cared 
for  the  comment  of  the  world  without ;  or,  knowing, 
refused  to  consider  it. 

When  the  body  of  Philip  was  carried  from  the 
Cohue  Royale  signals  were  made  to  the  Impertur- 
bable in  the  tideway.  From  all  her  ships  in  company 
forty  guns  were  fired  funeral-wise  and  the  flags  were 
struck  half-mast. 

Slowly  the  cortege  uncoiled  itself  to  one  long  un- 
broken line  from  the  steps  of  the  Cohue  Royale  to 
the  porch  of  the  church.  The  jurats  in  their  red 
robes,  the  officers,  sailors,  and  marines  added  color 
to  the  pageant.  The  coffin  was  covered  by  the  flag 
of  Jersey  with  the  arms  of  William  the  Conqueror  in 
the  canton. 


444     THE   BATTLE    OF  THE   STRONG 

Of  the  crowd  some  were  curious,  some  stoical ; 
some  wept,  some  essayed  philosophy. 

"  Et  ben,"  said  one,  "he  was  a  brave  admiral !  " 

"  Bravery  was  his  trade,"  answered  another  :  "  act 
like  a  sheep  and  you  '11  be  eaten  by  the  wolf." 

"  It  was  a  bad  business  about  her  that  was  Guida 
Landresse,"  remarked  a  third. 

"  Every  man  knows  himself,  God  knows  all  men," 
snuffled  the  fanatical  barber  who  had  once  delivered 
a  sermon  from  the  Pompe  des  Brigands. 

"He  made  things  lively  while  he  lived,  bi  su  !  " 
droned  the  jailer  of  the  Vier  Prison.  "But  he  has 
folded  sails  now,  pergui !  " 

"Ma  f6,  yes,  he  sleeps  like  a  porpoise  now,  and 
white  as  a  wax  he  looked  up  there  in  the  Cohue 
Royale,"  put  in  a  centenier  standing  by. 

A  voice  came  shrilly  over  the  head  of  the  centenier. 
"  As  white  as  you  '11  look  yellow  one  day,  bat'd'lagoule  ! 
Yellow  and  green,  oui-gia  !  —  yellow  like  a  bad  apple, 
and  cowardly  green  as  a  leek."  This  was  Manon 
Moignard  the  witch. 

"  Man  doux  d'la  vie,  where 's  the  Master  of  Burials  ? " 
babbled  the  jailer.  "  The  apprentice  does  the  ob- 
s'quies  to-day." 

"The  Master's  sick  of  a  squinzy,"  grunted  the 
centenier.  "  So  hatchet-face  and  bundle-o'-nails  there 
brings  dust  to  dust,  amen." 

All  turned  now  to  the  Undertaker's  Apprentice, 
a  grim,  saturnine  figure  with  his  gray  face,  protuber- 
ant eyes,  and  obsequious  solemnity,  in  which  lurked  a 
callous  smile.  The  burial  of  the  great,  the  execution 
of  the  wicked,  were  alike  to  him.  In  him  Fate  seemed 
to  personify  life's  revenges,  its  futilities,  its  calculating 
ironies. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  445 

The  flag-draped  coffin  was  just  about  to  pass,  and 
the  fanatical  barber  harked  back  to  Philip.  "They 
say  it  was  all  empty  honors  with  him  afore  he  died 
abroad." 

"  A  full  belly  's  a  full  belly  if  it 's  only  full  of  straw !  " 
snapped  Manon  Moignard. 

"  Who  was  it  brought  him  home  ? "  asked  the  jailer. 

"  None  that  was  born  on  Jersey,  but  two  that  lived 
here,"  remarked  Maitre  Damian,  the  schoolmaster 
from  St.  Aubin's. 

"That  Chevalier  of  Champsavoys  and  the  other 
Due  de  Bercy,"  interposed  the  centenier. 

Maitre  Damian  tapped  his  stick  upon  the  ground, 
and  said  oracularly :  "  It  is  not  for  me  to  say,  but 
which  is  the  rightful  Duke  and  which  is  not,  there  is 
the  political  question !  " 

"  Pardi,  that 's  it !  "  answered  the  centenier.  "  Why 
did  Detricand  Duke  turn  Philip  Duke  out  of  duchy, 
see  him  killed,  then  fetch  him  home  to  Jersey  like  a 
brother  ?  Ah,  man  pethe  benin,  that 's  beyond  me  ! " 

"Those  great  folks  does  things  their  own  ways, 
oui-gia!  "  remarked  the  jailer. 

"  Why  did  Detricand  Duke  go  back  to  France  ?  " 
asked  Maitre  Damian,  cocking  his  head  wisely ;  "  why 
did  he  not  stay  for  obsequies  —  he  ?  " 

"  That 's  what  I  say,"  answered  the  jailer,  "  those 
great  folks  does  things  their  own  ways." 

"  Ma  fistre,  I  believe  you ! "  ejaculated  the  cen- 
tenier. "  But  for  the  Chevalier  there,  for  a  French- 
man, that  is  a  man  after  God's  own  heart  —  and 
mine." 

"  Ah  then,  look  at  that ! "  said  Manon  Moignard, 
with  a  sneer ;  "  when  one  pleases  you  and  God  it  is  a 
ticket  to  heaven,  diantre  !  " 


446     THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG 

But  in  truth  what  Detricand  and  the  Chevalier  had 
done  was  but  of  human  pity.  The  day  after  the  duel, 
Detricand  had  arrived  in  Paris  to  proceed  thence  to 
Bercy.  There  he  heard  of  Philip's  death  and  of 
Damour's  desertion.  Sending  officers  to  Bercy  to 
frustrate  any  possible  designs  of  Damour,  he,  with 
the  Chevalier,  took  Philip's  body  back  to  Jersey,  de- 
livering it  to  those  who  would  do  it  honor. 

Detricand  did  not  see  Guida.  For  all  that  might 
be  said  to  her  now  the  Chevalier  should  be  his  mouth- 
piece. In  truth  there  could  be  no  better  mouthpiece 
for  him.  It  was  Detricand  —  Detricand  —  Detricand, 
like  a  child,  in  admiration  and  in  affection.  If  Guida 
did  not  understand  all  now,  there  should  come  a  time 
when  she  would  understand.  Detricand  would  wait. 
She  should  find  that  he  was  just,  that  her  honor  and 
the  honor  of  her  child  were  safe  with  him. 

As  for  Guida,  it  was  not  grief  she  felt  in  the  pre- 
sence of  this  tragedy.  No  spark  of  love  sprang  up, 
even  when  remembrance  was  now  brought  to  its  last 
vital  moment.  But  a  fathomless  pity  stirred  her 
heart,  that  Philip's  life  had  been  so  futile  and  that  all 
he  had  done  was  come  to  nought.  His  letter,  blotched 
and  blotted  by  his  own  dead  cheek,  she  read  quietly. 
Yet  her  heart  ached  bitterly  —  so  bitterly  that  her 
face  became  pinched  with  pain ;  for  here  in  this  letter 
was  despair,  here  was  the  final  agony  of  a  broken  life, 
here  were  the  last  words  of  the  father  of  her  child  to 
herself.  She  saw  with  a  sudden  pang  that  in  writing 
of  Guilbert  he  only  said  yoiir  child,  not  ours.  What 
a  measureless  distance  there  was  between  them  in 
the  hour  of  his  death,  and  how  clearly  the  letter 
showed  that  he  understood  at  last ! 

The  evening  before  the  burial  she  went  with  the 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  447 

Chevalier  to  the  Cohue  Royale.  As  she  looked  at 
Philip's  dead  face  bitterness  and  aching  compassion 
were  quieted  within  her.  The  face  was  peaceful — 
strong.  There  was  on  it  no  record  of  fret  or  despair. 
Its  impassive  dignity  seemed  to  say  that  all  accounts 
had  been  settled,  and  in  this  finality  there  was  quiet  ; 
as  though  he  had  paid  the  price,  as  though  the  long 
account  against  him  in  the  markets  of  life  was  closed 
and  canceled,  and  the  debtor  freed  from  obligation 
forever.  Poignant  impulses  in  her  stilled,  pity  lost 
its  wounding  acuteness.  She  shed  no  tears,  but  at 
last  she  stretched  out  her  hand  and  let  it  rest  upon 
his  forehead  for  a  moment. 

"  Poor  Philip  !  "  she  said. 

Then  she  turned  and  slowly  left  the  room,  followed 
by  the  Chevalier,  and  by  the  noiseless  Dormy  Jamais, 
who  had  crept  in  behind  them.  As  Dormy  Jamais 
closed  the  door,  he  looked  back  to  where  the  coffin 
lay,  and  in  the  compassion  of  fools  he  repeated 
Guida's  words :  — 

"  Poor  Philip  !  "  he  said. 

Now,  during  Philip's  burial,  Dormy  Jamais  sat 
upon  the  roof  of  the  Cohue  Royale,  as  he  had  done 
on  the  day  of  the  Battle  of  Jersey,  looking  down  on 
the  funeral  cortege  and  the  crowd.  He  watched  it 
all  until  the  ruffle  of  drums  at  the  grave  told  that  the 
body  was  being  lowered — four  ruffles  for  an  admiral. 

As  the  people  began  to  disperse  and  the  church 
bell  ceased  tolling,  Dormy  turned  to  another  bell  at 
his  elbow,  and  set  it  ringing  to  call  the  Royal  Court 
together.  Sharp,  mirthless,  and  acrid  it  rang  :  — 

Chicane  —  chicane  !  Chicane  —  chicane  !  Chicane 
—  chicane  ! 


BOOK  VI  —  AND   LAST 

[IN  JERSEY— A    YEAR  LATER} 
CHAPTER    XLVI 

WHAT  is  that  for  ? "  asked  the  child,  pointing. 
Detricand  put  the  watch  to  the  child's  ear. 
"  It 's  to  keep  time.  Listen.  Do  you  hear  it  —  tic- 
tic,  tic-tic  ?  " 

The  child  nodded  his  head  gleefully,  and  his  big 
eyes  blinked  with  understanding.  "  Does  n't  it  ever 
stop  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  This  watch  never  stops,"  replied  Detricand.  "  But 
there  are  plenty  of  watches  that  do." 

"  I  like  watches,"  said  the  child  sententiously. 

"  Would  you  like  this  one  ?  "  asked  Detricand. 

The  child  drew  in  a  gurgling  breath  of  pleasure. 
"  I  like  it.  Why  does  n't  mother  have  a  watch  ?  " 

The  man  did  not  answer  the  last  question.  "  You 
like  it  ?  "  he  said  again,  and  he  nodded  his  head  to- 
wards the  little  fellow.  "  H'm  !  it  keeps  good  time, 
excellent  time  it  keeps,"  and  he  rose  to  meet  the 
child's  mother,  who,  having  just  entered  the  room, 
stood  looking  at  them.  It  was  Guida.  She  had  heard 
the  last  words,  and  she  glanced  towards  the  watch 
curiously. 

Detricand  smiled  in  greeting,  and  said  to  her,  "  Do 
you  remember  it  ?  "  He  held  up  the  watch. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     449 

She  came  forward  eagerly.  "  Is  it  —  is  it  that  in- 
deed, the  watch  that  the  dear  grandpethe  —  ?  " 

He  nodded  and  smiled.  "  Yes,  it  has  never  once 
stopped  since  the  moment  he  gave  it  me  in  the  Vier 
Marchi  seven  years  ago.  It  has  had  a  charmed  ex- 
istence amid  many  rough  doings  and  accidents.  I  was 
always  afraid  of  losing  it,  always  afraid  of  an  accident 
to  it.  It  has  seemed  to  me  that  if  I  could  keep  it 
things  would  go  right  with  me,  and  things  come  out 
right  in  the  end.  Superstition,  of  course,  but  I  lived 
a  long  time  in  Jersey.  I  feel  more  a  Jerseyman  than 
a  Frenchman  sometimes." 

Although  his  look  seemed  to  rest  but  casually  on 
her  face,  it  was  evident  he  was  anxious  to  feel  the 
effect  of  every  word  upon  her,  and  he  added  :  "  When 
the  Sieur  d.e  Mauprat  gave  me  the  watch  he  said, 
'  May  no  time  be  ill  spent  that  it  records  for  you.'  ): 

"  Perhaps  he  knows  his  wish  was  fulfilled,"  answered 
Guida. 

"  You  think,  then,  that  I  Ve  kept  my  promise  ? " 

"  I  am  sure  he  would  say  so,"  she  replied  warmly. 

"  It  is  n't  the  promise  I  made  to  him  that  I  mean, 
but  the  promise  I  made  to  you." 

She  smiled  brightly.  "  Ah,  you  know  what  I  think 
of  that.  I  told  you  long  ago."  She  turned  her  head 
away,  for  a  bright  color  had  come  to  her  cheek.  "  You 
have  done  great  things,  Prince,"  she  added  in  a  low 
tone. 

He  flashed  a  look  of  inquiry  at  her.  To  his  ear 
there  was  in  her  voice  a  little  touch  —  not  of  bitter- 
ness, but  of  something,  as  it  were,  muffled  or  reserved. 
Was  she  thinking  how  he  had  robbed  her  child  of  the 
chance  of  heritage  at  Bercy  ?  He  did  not  reply,  but, 
stooping,  put  the  watch  again  to  the  child's  ear. 


450  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

"  There  you  are,  monseigneur  !  " 

"  Why  do  you  call  him  monseignettr?"  she  asked. 
"  Guilbert  has  no  title  to  your  compliment." 

A  look  half-amused,  half-perplexed,  crossed  over 
Detricand's  face.  "  Do  you  think  so  ? "  he  said 
musingly.  Stooping  once  more,  he  said  to  the  child, 
"  Would  you  like  the  watch  ? "  and  added  quickly, 
"  you  shall  have  it  when  you  're  grown  up." 

"  Do  you  really  mean  it  ?  "  asked  Guicla,  delighted  ; 
"do  you  really  mean  to  give  him  the  grandpethe's 
watch  one  day  ? " 

"Oh  yes,  at  least  that  —  one  day.  But  I  have 
something  more,"  he  added  quickly — "something 
more  for  you  ;  "  and  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  minia- 
ture set  in  rubies  and  diamonds.  "  I  have  brought 
you  this  from  the  Due  de  Mauban  —  and  this,"  he 
went  on,  taking  a  letter  from  his  pocket,  and  handing 
it  with  the  gift.  "  The  Duke  thought  you  might  care 
to  have  it.  It  is  the  face  of  your  godmother,  the 
Duchess  Guidabaldine. " 

Guida  looked  at  the  miniature  earnestly,  and  then 
said  a  little  wistfully  :  "  How  beautiful  a  face!  —  but 
the  jewels  are  much  too  fine  for  me.  What  should 
one  do  here  with  rubies  and  diamonds  ?  How  can  I 
thank  the  Duke !  " 

"  Not  so.  He  will  thank  you  for  accepting  it.  He 
begged  me  to  say  —  as  you  will  find  by  his  letter  to 
you  —  that  if  you  will  but  go  to  him  upon  a  visit  with 
this  great  man  here"  —pointing  to  the  child  with  a 
smile —  "  he  will  count  it  one  of  the  greatest  pleasures 
of  his  life.  He  is  too  old  to  come  to  you,  but  he  begs 
you  to  go  to  him  —  the  Chevalier,  and  you,  and  Guil- 
bert here.  He  is  much  alone  now,  and  he  longs  for  a 
little  of  that  friendship  which  can  be  given  by  but  few 


THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG     451 

in  this  world.  He  counts  upon  your  coming,  for  I 
said  I  thought  you  would." 

"It  would  seem  so  strange,"  she  answered,  "to  go 
from  this  cottage  of  my  childhood,  to  which  I  have 
come  back  in  peace  at  last  —  from  this  kitchen,  to 
the  chateau  of  the  Due  de  Mauban." 

"But  it  was  sure  to  come,"  he  answered.  "This 
kitchen  to  which  I  come  also  to  redeem  my  pledge 
after  seven  years,  it  belongs  to  one  part  of  your  life. 
But  there  is  another  part  to  fulfill,"  — he  stooped  and 
passed  his  hands  over  the  curls  of  the  child,  —  "and 
for  your  child  here  you  should  do  it." 

"  I  do  not  find  your  meaning,"  she  said  after  a 
moment's  deliberation.  "  I  do  not  know  what  you 
would  have  me  understand." 

"  In  some  ways  you  and  I  would  be  happier  in  sim- 
ple surroundings,"  he  replied  gravely,  "but  it  would 
seem  that  to  play  duly  our  part  in  the  world,  we  must 
needs  move  in  wider  circles.  To  my  mind  this  kitchen 
is  the  most  delightful  spot  in  the  world.  Here  I  took 
a  fresh  commission  of  life.  I  went  out,  a  sort  of  bat- 
tered remnant,  to  a  forlorn  hope  ;  and  now  I  come 
back  to  headquarters  once  again  —  not  to  be  praised," 
he  added  in  an  ironical  tone,  and  with  a  quick  gesture 
of  almost  boyish  shyness  —  "  not  to  be  praised  ;  only 
to  show  that  from  a  grain  of  decency  left  in  a  man 
may  grow  up  some  sheaves  of  honest  work  and  plain 
duty." 

"  Oh,  it  is  much  more  than  that,  it  is  much,  much 
more  than  that !  "  she  broke  in. 

"No,  I  am  afraid  it  is  not,"  he  answered;  "but 
that  is  not  what  I  wished  to  say.  I  wished  to  say 
that  for  monseigneur  here"  — 

A  little  flash  of  anger  came  into  her  eyes.     "  He  is 


452  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

no  monseigneur,  he  is  Guilbert  d'Avranche,"  she  said 
bitterly.  "  It  is  not  like  you  to  mock  my  child, 
Prince.  Oh,  I  know  you  mean  it  playfully,"  she  hur- 
riedly added,  "  but  —  but  it  does  not  sound  right  to 
me." 

"  For  the  sake  of  monseigneur  the  heir  to  the  Duchy 
of  Bercy,"  he  added,  laying  his  hand  upon  the  child's 
head,  "  these  things  your  devout  friends  suggest,  you 
should  do,  Princess." 

Her  clear  unwavering  eye  looked  steadfastly  at  him, 
but  her  face  turned  pale. 

"Why  do  you  call  him  monseigneur  the  heir  to  the 
duchy  of  Bercy  ? "  she  said  almost  coldly,  and  with  a 
little  fear  in  her  look,  too. 

"  Because  I  have  come  here  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
and  to  place  in  your  hands  the  record  of  an  act  of 
justice." 

Drawing  from  his  pocket  a  parchment  gorgeous 
with  seals,  he  stooped,  and  taking  the  hands  of  the 
child,  he  placed  it  in  them.  "  Hold  it  tight,  hold  it 
tight,  my  little  friend,  for  it  is  your  very  own,"  he 
said  to  the  child  with  cheerful  kindliness.  Then  step- 
ping back  a  little,  and  looking  earnestly  at  Guida,  he 
added  with  a  motion  of  the  hand  towards  the  child  :  — 

"  You  must  learn  the  truth  from  him." 

"  Oh,  what  can  you  mean  —  what  can  you  mean  !  " 
she  exclaimed.  Dropping  upon  her  knees,  and  run- 
ning an  arm  round  the  child,  she  opened  the  parch- 
ment and  read. 

"What  —  what  right  has  he  to  this  ?  "  she  cried  in 
a  voice  of  dismay.  "  A  year  ago  you  dispossessed  his 
father  from  the  duchy.  Ah,  I  do  not  understand  it ! 
You —  only  you  are  the  Due  de  Bercy." 

Her  eyes  were  shining  with  a  happy  excitement  and 


THE   BATTLE   OF  THE   STRONG     453 

tenderness.  No  such  look  had  been  in  them  for  many 
a  day.  Something  that  had  long  slept  was  waking  in 
her,  something  long  voiceless  was  speaking.  This 
man  brought  back  to  her  heart  a  glow  she  had  never 
thought  to  feel  again,  the  glow  of  the  wonder  of  life 
and  of  a  girlish  faith. 

"  I  am  only  Detricand  of  Vaufontaine,"  he  answered. 
"  What !  did  you  —  could  you  think  that  I  would  dis- 
possess your  child  ?  His  father  was  the  adopted  son 
of  the  Due  de  Bercy.  Nothing  could  wipe  that  out, 
neither  law  nor  nations.  You  are  always  Princess 
Guida,  and  your  child  is  always  Prince  Guilbert 
d'Avranche  —  and  more  than  that." 

His  voice  became  lower,  his  war-beaten  face  lighted 
with  that  fire  and  force  which  had  made  him  during 
years  past  a  figure  in  the  war  records  of  Europe. 

"  I  unseated  Philip  d'Avranche,"  he  continued, 
"  because  he  acquired  the  duchy  through  —  a  misap- 
prehension ;  because  the  claims  of  the  House  of  Vau- 
fontaine were  greater.  We  belonged  ;  he  was  an  alien. 
He  had  a  right  to  his  adoption,  he  had  no  right  to  his 
duchy  —  no  real  right  in  the  equity  of  nations.  But 
all  the  time  I  never  forgot  that  the  wife  of  Philip 
d'Avranche  and  her  child  had  rights  infinitely  beyond 
his  own.  All  that  he  achieved  was  theirs  by  every 
principle  of  justice.  My  plain  duty  was  to  win  for 
your  child  that  succession  belonging  to  him  by  all 
moral  right.  When  Philip  d'Avranche  was  killed,  I 
set  to  work  to  do  for  your  child  what  had  been  done 
by  another  for  Philip  d'Avranche.  I  have  made  him 
my  heir.  When  he  is  of  age  I  shall  abdicate  from  the 
duchy  in  his  favor.  This  deed,  ..countersigned  by  the 
Powers  that  dispossessed  his  father,  secures  to  him 
the  duchy  when  he  is  old  enough  to  govern." 


454  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

Guida  had  listened  like  one  in  a  dream.  A  hundred 
feelings  possessed  her,  and  one  more  than  all.  She 
suddenly  saw  all  Detricand's  goodness  to  her  stretch 
out  in  a  long  line  of  devoted  friendship,  from  this  day 
to  that  far-off  hour  seven  years  before,  when  he  had 
made  a  vow  to  her  —  kept  how  nobly  !  Devoted  friend- 
ship —  was  it  devoted  friendship  alone,  even  with  her- 
self ?  In  a  tumult  of  emotions  she  answered  him 
hurriedly :  — 

"  No  no,  no  no  !  I  cannot  accept  it.  This  is  not 
justice,  this  is  a  gift  for  which  there  is  no  example  in 
the  world's  history  !  " 

"I  thought  it  best,"  he  went  on  quietly,  "to  govern 
Bercy  myself  during  these  troubled  years.  So  far  its 
neutrality  has  been  honored,  but  who  can  tell  what 
may  come !  As  a  Vaufontaine  it  is  my  duty  to  see 
that  Bercy 's  interests  are  duly  protected  amidst  the 
troubles  of  Europe." 

Guida  got  to  her  feet  now  and  stood  looking  dazedly 
at  the  parchment  in  her  hand.  The  child,  feeling 
himself  neglected,  ran  out  into  the  garden. 

There  was  moisture  in  Guida' s  eyes  as  she  presently 
said,  "  I  had  not  thought  that  any  man  could  be  so 
noble  —  no,  not  even  you." 

"  You  should  not  doubt  yourself  so,"  he  answered 
meaningly.  "  I  am  the  work  of  your  hands.  If  I 
have  fought  my  way  back  to  reputable  life  again  "  — 

He  paused,  and  took  from  his  pocket  a  handker- 
chief. "  This  was  the  gage,"  he  said,  holding  it  up. 
"  Do  you  remember  the  day  I  came  to  return  it  to 
you,  and  carried  it  off  again  ? " 

"It  was  foolish  of  you  to  keep  it,"  she  answered 
softly,  "as  foolish  of  you  as  to  think  that  I  shall  ac- 
cept for  my  child  these  great  honors." 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  455 

"  But  suppose  the  child  in  after  years  should  blame 
you  ? "  he  answered  slowly  and  with  emphasis.  "  Sup- 
pose that  Guilbert  should  say,  What  right  had  you, 
my  mother,  to  refuse  what  was  my  due  ? " 

This  was  the  question  she  had  asked  herself,  long, 
long  ago.  It  smote  her  heart  now.  What  right  had 
she  to  reject  this  gift  of  Fate  to  her  child  ? 

Scarcely  above  a  whisper  she  replied :  "  Of  course 
he  might  say  that,  but  how,  oh,  how  should  we  simple 
folk,  he  and  I,  be  fitted  for  these  high  places  —  yet  ? 
Now  that  what  I  desired  all  these  years  for  him  has 
come,  I  have  not  the  courage." 

"  You  have  friends  to  help  you  in  all  you  do,"  he 
answered  meaningly. 

"  But  friends  cannot  always  be  with  one,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"That  depends  upon  the  friends.  There  is  one 
friend  of  yours  who  has  known  you  for  eighteen  years. 
Eighteen  years'  growth  should  make  a  strong  friend- 
ship—  there  was  always  friendship  on  his  part  at 
least.  He  can  be  a  still  stronger  and  better  friend. 
He  comes  now  to  offer  you  the  remainder  of  a  life 
for  which  your  own  goodness  is  the  guarantee.  He 
comes  to  offer  you  a  love  of  which  your  own  soul 
must  be  the  only  judge,  for  you  have  eyes  that  see 
and  a  spirit  that  knows.  The  Chevalier  needs  you, 
and  the  Due  de  Mauban  needs  you,  but  Detricand  of 
Vaufontaine  needs  you  a  thousand  times  more."  « 

"Oh,  hush  —  but  no,  you  must  not,"  she  broke  in, 
her  face  all  crimson,  her  lips  trembling. 

"  But  yes,  I  must,"  he  answered  quickly.  "  You 
find  peace  here,  but  it  is  the  peace  of  inaction.  It 
dulls  the  brain,  and  life  winds  in  upon  itself  wearily 
at  the  last.  But  out  there  is  light  and  fire  and  action 


456  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

and  the  quick-beating  pulse,  and  the  joy  of  power 
wisely  used,  even  to  the  end.  You  come  of  a  great 
people,  you  were  born  to  great  things  ;  your  child  has 
rights  accorded  now  by  every  Court  of  Europe.  You 
must  act  for  him.  For  your  child's  sake,  for  my  sake, 
come  out  into  the  great  field  of  life  with  me  —  as  my 
wife,  Guida." 

She  turned  to  him  frankly,  she  looked  at  him  stead- 
fastly, the  color  in  her  face  came  and  went,  but  her 
eyes  glowed  with  feeling. 

"After  all  that  has  happened  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  low 
tone. 

"  It  could  only  be  because  of  all  that  has  happened," 
he  answered. 

"No,  no,  you  do  not  understand,"  she  said  quickly, 
a  great  pain  in  her  voice.  "  I  have  suffered  so,  these 
many,  many  years !  I  shall  never  be  light-hearted 
again.  And  I  am  not  fitted  for  such  high  estate.  Do 
you  not  see  what  you  ask  of  me  —  to  go  from  this 
cottage  to  a  palace  ? " 

"  I  love  you  too  well  to  ask  you  to  do  what  you 
could  not.  You  must  trust  me,"  he  answered,  "you 
must  give  your  life  its  chance,  you  must "  — 

"  But  listen  to  me,"  she  interjected  with  breaking 
tones,  "  I  know  as  surely  as  I  know  —  as  I  know  the 
face  of  my  child,  that  the  youth  in  me  is  dead.  My 
summer  came  —  and  went  —  long  ago.  No,  no,  you 
•  do  not  understand  —  I  would  not  make  you  unhappy. 
I  must  live  only  to  make  my  child  happy.  That  love 
has  not  been  marred  !  " 

"And  I  must  be  judge  of  what  is  for  my  own 
happiness.  And  for  yours —  if  I  thought  my  love 
would  make  you  unhappy  for  even  one  day,  I  should 
not  offer  it.  I  am  your  lover,  but  I  am  also  your 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  457 

friend.  Had  it  not  been  for  you  I  might  have  slept 
in  a  drunkard's  grave  in  Jersey.  Were  it  not  for 
you,  my  bones  would  now  be  lying  in  the  Vendee. 
I  left  my  peasants,  I  denied  myself  death  with  them 
to  serve  you.  The  old  cause  is  gone.  You  and  your 
child  are  now  my  only  cause  "  — 

"  You  make  it  so  hard  for  me !  "  she  broke  in. 
"  Think  of  the  shadows  from  the  past  always  in  my 
eyes,  always  in  my  heart  —  you  cannot  wear  the  con- 
vict's chain  without  the  lagging  footstep  afterwards." 

"  Shadows  !  —  Friend  of  my  soul,  how  should  I  dare 
come  to  you  if  there  had  never  been  shadows  in 
your  life  !  It  is  because  you  —  you  have  suffered, 
because  you  know,  that  I  come.  Out  of  your  miser- 
ies, the  convict's  lagging  step,  you  say  ?  Think  what 
I  was.  There  was  never  any  wrong  in  you,  but  I  was 
sunk  in  evil  depths  of  folly  " 

"  I  will  not  have  you  say  so,"  she  interrupted ; 
"you  never  in  your  life  did  a  dishonorable  thing." 

"Then  again  I  say,  trust  me.  For,  on  the  honor 
of  a  Vauf  ontaine,  I  believe  that  happiness  will  be  yours 
as  my  wife.  The  boy,  you  see  how  he  and  I "  — 

"Ah,  you  are  so  good  to  him !  " 

"  You  must  give  me  chance  and  right  to  serve 
him.  What  else  have  you  or  I  to  look  forward  to  ? 
The  honors  of  this  world  concern  us  little.  The 
brightest  joys  are  not  for  us.  We  have  work  before 
us,  no  rainbow  ambitions.  But  the  boy  —  think  for 
him  "  —  he  paused. 

After  a  little,  she  held  out  her  hand  towards  him. 
"  Good-by  !  "  she  said  softly. 

"  Good-by  —  you  say  good-by  to  me !  "  he  exclaimed 
in  dismay. 

"  Till  —  till  to-morrow  !  "    she   answered,  and   she 


458     THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   STRONG 

smiled.  The  smile  had  a  little  touch  of  the  old  arch- 
ness which  was  hers  as  a  child,  yet,  too,  a  little  of  the 
sadness  belonging  to  the  woman.  But  her  hand-clasp 
was  firm  and  strong;  and  her  touch  thrilled  him. 
Power  was  there,  power  with  infinite  gentleness.  And 
he  understood  her ;  which  was  more  than  all. 

He  turned  at  the  door.  She  was  standing  very 
still,  the  parchment  with  the  great  seals  still  in  her 
hand.  Without  speaking,  she  held  it  out  to  him,  as 
though  uncertain  what  to  do  with  it. 

As  he  passed  through  the  doorway  he  smiled,  and 
said :  — 

"  To-morrow  —  to-morrow ! " 


EPILOGUE 

ST.  JOHN'S  EVE  had  passed.  In  the  fields  at 
Bonne-Nuit  Bay  the  " Brou-bron  !  ben-ben!" 
of  the  Song  of  the  Caldron  had  affrighted  the  night ; 
riotous  horns,  shaming  the  blare  of  a  Witches'  Sab- 
bath, had  been  blown  by  those  who,  as  old  Jean 
Touzel  said,  carried  little  lead  under  their  noses. 
The  meadows  had  been  full  of  the  childlike  Islanders 
welcoming  in  the  longest  day  of  the  year.  Midsum- 
mer Day  had  also  come  and  gone,  but  with  less  noise 
and  clamor,  for  St.  John's  Fair  had  been  carried  on 
with  an  orderly  gayety  —  as  the  same  Jean  Touzel 
said,  like  a  sheet  of  music.  Even  the  French  singers 
and  dancers  from  St.  Malo  had  been  approved  in 
Norman  phrases  by  the  Bailly  and  the  Jurats,  for  now 
there  was  no  longer  war  between  England  and 
France,  Napoleon  was  at  St.  Helena,  and  the  Bourbons 
were  come  again  to  their  own. 

It  had  been  a  great  day,  and  the  roads  were  cloudy 
with  the  dust  of  Midsummer  revelers  going  to  their 
homes.  But  though  some  went,  many  stayed,  camp- 
ing among  the  booths,  since  the  Fair  was  for  to- 
morrow and  for  other  to-morrows  after.  And  now, 
the  day's  sport  being  over,  the  superstitious  were 
making  the  circle  of  the  rock  called  William's  Horse 
in  Boulay  Bay,  singing  the  song  of  William,  who, 
with  the  fabled  sprig  of  sacred  mistletoe,  turned  into 
a  rock  the  kelpie  horse  carrying  him  to  death. 


460  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

There  was  one  boat,  however,  which  putting  out 
into  the  Bay  did  not  bear  towards  William's  Horse, 
but,  catching  the  easterly  breeze,  bore  away  westward 
towards  the  point  of  Plemont.  Upon  the  stern  of 
the  boat  was  painted  in  bright  colors,  Hardi  Biaou. 

"We'll  be  there  soon  after  sunset,"  said  the  griz- 
zled helmsman,  Jean  Touzel,  as  he  glanced  from  the 
full  sail  to  the  setting  sun. 

Neither  of  his  fellow-voyagers  made  reply,  and 
for  a  time  there  was  silence,  save  for  the  swish  of 
the  gunwale  through  the  water.  But  at  last  Jean 
said  :  — 

"  Su'  m'n  ame,  but  it  is  good  this,  after  that !  "  and 
he  jerked  his  head  back  towards  the  Fair-ground  on 
the  hill.  "  Even  you  will  sleep  to-night,  Dormy 
Jamais,  and  you,  my  wife  of  all !  " 

Maitresse  Aimable  shook  her  great  head  slowly  on 
the  vast  shoulders,  and  shut  her  heavy  eyelids. 

"  Dame  !  but  I  think  you  are  sleeping  now  —  you  !  " 
Jean  went  on. 

Maitresse  Aimable's  eyes  opened  wide,  and  again 
she  shook  her  head. 

Jean  looked  a  laugh  at  her  through  his  great  brass- 
rimmed  spectacles,  and  added  :  — 

"  Ba  su,  then  I  know.  It  is  because  we  go  to  sleep 
in  my  hut  at  Plemont  where  She  live  so  long.  I 
know,  you  never  sleep  there." 

Maitresse  Aimable  shook  her  head  once  more,  and 
drew  from  her  pocket  a  letter. 

At  sight  of  it  Dormy  Jamais  crawled  quickly  over 
to  where  the  Femme  de  Ballast  sat,  and,  reaching 
out,  he  touched  it  with  both  hands. 

"  Princess  of  all  the  world  —  bidemme  !  "  he  said, 
and  he  threw  out  his  arms  and  laughed. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG  461 

Two  great  tears  were  rolling  down  Maitresse 
Aimable's  cheeks. 

"  How  to  remember  she,  ma  fuifre  !  "  said  Jean 
Touzel.  "  Ah,  but  go  on  to  the  news  of  her." 

Maitresse  Aimable  spread  the  letter  out  and  looked 
at  it  lovingly.  Her  voice  rose  slowly  up  like  a  bubble 
from  the  bottom  of  a  well,  and  she  spoke. 

"  Ah  man  pethe  benin  !  when  it  come,  you  are  not 
here,  my  Jean.  I  take  it  to  the  Greffier  to  read  for 
me.  It  is  great  news,  but  the  way  he  read  so  sour  I 
do  not  like,  ba  su  !  I  see  Maitre  Damian  the  school- 
master pass  my  door.  I  beckon,  and  he  come.  I 
take  my  letter  here,  I  hold  it  close  to  his  eyes.  '  Read 
on  that  for  me,  Maitre  Damian  —  you ! '  I  say.  O 
my  good !  when  he  read  it,  it  sing  sweet  like  a  song, 
pergui !  Once,  two,  three  times  I  make  him  read  it 
out  —  ah,  he  has  the  voice  so  soft  and  round,  Maitre 
Damian  there  ! " 

"  Glad   and  good  !  "  interrupted  Jean.     "  What  is 
the  news,  my  wife  ?    What  is  the  news  of  highness  — 
she  ?  " 

Maitresse  Aimable  smiled,  then  she  tried  to  speak, 
but  her  voice  broke. 

"  The  son  —  the  son  —  at  last  he  is  the  Duke  of 
Bercy  !  E'fin,  it  is  all  here.  The  new  King  of  France, 
he  is  there  at  the  palace  when  the  child  which  it  have 
sleep  on.  my  breast,  which  its  mother  I  have  love  all 
the  years,  kiss  her  son  as  the  Duke  of  Bercy  ! " 

"  Ch'est  ben,"  said  Jean,  "  you  can  trust  the  good 
God  in  the  end." 

Dormy  Jamais  did  not  speak.  His  eyes  were  fas- 
tened upon  the  north,  where  lay  the  Paternoster 
Rocks.  The  sun  had  gone  down,  the  dusk  was  creep- 
ing on,  and  against  the  dark  of  the  north  there  was 


462  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  STRONG 

a  shimmer  of  fire  —  a  fire  that  leaped  and  quivered 
about  the  Paternoster  Rocks. 

Dormy  pointed  with  his  finger.  Ghostly  lights  or 
miracle  of  Nature,  these  fitful  flames  had  come  and 
gone  at  times  these  many  years,  and  now  again  the 
wonder  of  the  unearthly  radiance  held  their  eyes. 

"  Gatd'en'ale  !  I  don't  understand  you  —  you  !  " 
said  Jean,  speaking  to  the  fantastic  fires  as  though 
they  were  human. 

"  There  's  plenty  things  we  see  we  can't  understand, 
and  there  's  plenty  we  understand  we  can't  never  see. 
Ah  bah,  so  it  goes  !  "  said  Maitresse  Aimable,  and  she 
put  Guida's  letter  in  her  bosom. 

Upon  the  hill  of  Plemont  above  them,  a  stone  taken 
from  the  chimney  of  the  hut  where  Guida  used  to 
live  stood  upright  beside  a  little  grave.  Upon  it  was 
carved :  — 

"  BIRIBI, 
Fidele  ami 
De  quels  jours  !  " 

In  the  words  of  Maitresse  Aimable,  "Ah  bah,  so  it 
goes." 


FINIS 


NOTE 

It  is  possible  that  students  of  English  naval  his- 
tory may  find  in  the  life  of  Philip  d'Avranche,  as  set 
forth  in  this  book,  certain  resemblances  to  the  singu- 
lar and  long-forgotten  career  of  the  young  Jerseyman, 
PJiilip  d '  Auvergne  of  the  Arethusa,  who  in  good  time 
became  Vice-Admiral  of  the  White  and  His  Serene 
Highness  the  Duke  of  Bouillon. 

Because  all  the  relatives  and  direct  descendants  of 
Admiral  Prince  Philip  d' Auvergne  are  dead,  I  am 
the  more  anxious  to  state  that,  apart  from  one  main 
incident,. the  story  herebefore  written  is  not  taken  from 
the  life  of  that  remarkable  man.  Yet  I  will  say  also 
that  I  have  drawn  ^lpon  the  eloqtience,  courage,  and 
ability  of  PJdlip  d' Auvergne  to  make  the  better  part 
of  Philip  d'Avranche,  whose  great  natiiral  fault,  an 
overleaping  ambition,  was  the  same  fault  that  brought 
the  famous  Prince  Admiral  to  a  piteous  death  in 
the  end. 

In  any  case,  this  tale  has  no  claim  to  be  called  a 
historical  novel. 


JERSEY  WORDS   AND   PHRASES 

WITH  THEIR  EQUIVALENTS  IN  ENGLISH  OR  FRENCH 

A  bi'tot  =  a  bientdt. 
Achocre  =  dolt,  ass. 
Ah  bah  !  (Difficult  to  render  in  English,  but  meaning  much  the  same 

as  "  Well !  well !  ") 
Ah  be  !  =  eh  bien. 

Alles  kedainne  =  to  go  quickly,  to  skedaddle. 
Bachouar  —  a  fool. 
Ba  su  !  =  bien  sAr. 
Bashin  =  large  copper-lined  stewpan. 
Bat'd'lagoule  =  chatterbox. 
Bedgone  =  shortgown  or  deep  bodice  of  print. 
Beganne  =  daft  fellow. 
Biaou  =  beau. 

Bidemme !  =  exclamation  of  astonishment. 
Bouchi  =  mouthful. 
Buzard  =  idiot. 
Chelin  =  shilling. 
Ch'est  ben  =  c'est  bien, 
Cotil  =  slope  of  a  dale. 

Coum  est  qu'on  etes  ?  \    Comment  vous  portez-vous  f 

Coum  est  qu  on  vos  portest  ?  > 

Couzain  or  couzaine  =  cousin. 

Crasset  =  metal  oil-lamp  of  classic  shape. 

Critchett  =  cricket. 

Diantre  =  diable, 

Dreschiaux  =  dresser. 

E'fant  =  enfant. 

E'fin  =  enfin. 

Eh  ben  =  eh  bien. 

Esmanus  =  scarecrow. 

Es-tu  gentiment  ?  =  are  you  well  ? 

Et  ben  =  and  now. 

Gache-a-penn  !  =  misery  me  ! 

Gad'rabotin  !  —  deuce  take  it  I 

Garche  =  lass. 

Gatd'en'ale !  =  God  be  with  us  ! 

Grandpethe  =  grandplre. 

Han  =  kind  of  grass  for  the  making  of  ropes,  baskets,  etc. 


466     JERSEY   WORDS   AND   PHRASES 

Hanap  =  drinking-cup. 

Hardi  =  very. 

Hus  =  lower  half  of  a  door.     (Doors  of  many  old  Jersey  houses  were 

divided  horizontally,  for  protection  against  cattle,  to  let  out  the 

smoke,  etc.) 
Je  me  crais  ;  je  te  crais  ;  je  crais  ben !  =  I  believe  it ;  true  for  you  ; 

I  well  believe  it ! 
Ma  fe !          J 
Mafistre!     >-  =  ma  foil 
Ma  fuifre  !    ) 

Mai  grand  doux  !  =  but  goodness  gracious ! 
Man  doux  !  =  my  good,  oh  dear  !     (Originally  man  Dieu  /) 
Man  doux  d'la  vie !  =  upon  my  life  ! 
Man  gui,  mon  pethe !  =  man  dieu,  mon  p2re  ! 
Man  pethe  benin !  =  my  good  father  ! 
Marchi  =  Marche. 
Mogue  =  drinking-cup. 
Nannin  ;  nannin-gia  !  =  no  ;  no  indeed  ! 
Ni  bouf  ni  baf    7    „  .         ,    , 

Ni  fiche  ni  bra    \   Expression  of  absolute  negation,  untranslatable. 

Oui-gia  !  =  yes  indeed ! 

Par  Made  =  par  mon  dieu. 

Pardi !  ^ 

Pardingue  !    V  =  old  forms  oipar  Dieu. 

Pergui !         ) 

Pend'loque  =  ragamuffin. 

Queminzolle  =  overcoat. 

Racllyi  =  hanging  rack  from  the  rafters  of  a  kitchen. 

Respe  d'la  compagnie  !  =  with  all  due  respect. 

Shale  ben  !  =  very  well. 

Simnel  =  a  sort  of  biscuit,  cup-shaped,  supposed  to  represent  un- 
leavened bread,  specially  eaten  at  Easter. 

Soupe  a  la  graisse  =  very  thin  soup,  chiefly  made  of  water,  with  a 
few  vegetables  and  some  dripping. 

Su'  m'n  time  !  —  sur  mon  dme  ! 

Tcheche  ?  =  what 's  that  you  say  ? 

Trejous  =  toujours. 

Tres-ba  !  =  Ms  bien  ! 

Veille  =  a  wide  low  settle.  (Probably  from  //'/  de  fouaille.)  Also 
applied  to  evening  gatherings,  when,  sitting  cross-legged  on  the 
veille,  the  neighbors  sang,  talked,  and  told  stories. 

Vergee  =  the  land  measure  of  Jersey,  equal  to  forty  perches.  Two 
and  a  quarter  vergees  are  equivalent  to  the  English  acre. 

Vier  =  vieux. 

Vraic  =  a  kind  of  sea-weed. 


Oic  HiUcmDe  }3rrss 

CAMBRIDGE,    MASSACHUSETTS,    U.    S.    A. 

BLECTROTYPED   AND   PRINTED   BY 

H.  O.  HOUGHTON  AND  CO. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


REffD  LD-URL1 


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